


the whole of life, in a new rhythm

by jemmasimmmons



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, Childbirth, F/M, Happy Ending, House Hunting, Marriage Proposal, Pregnancy, Wedding, mentions of the finale, mostly fluff very little angst, post 5x22
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmmons/pseuds/jemmasimmmons
Summary: "Inhaling deeply, Jemma’s eyes flicker shut. For the first time since she’d been told Fitz was dead, she allows herself to revisit the surge of excitement she’d felt whenever the subject of their daughter had come up. It settles in the base of her stomach, a pleasant fluttering feeling that could, one day soon, turn into a heartbeat."Fitz and Jemma get a second chance, in every sense of the word. Set post 5x22.





	1. heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> i was asked to go crazy with fs having a baby in canon and the finale was karma for me deciding to wait until the end of the season to fill it in. my sincerest apologies, everyone. 
> 
> there are four parts to this, and i'm hoping to post one every other day, more tags will be added with each chapter. the title comes from sonnet vii of elizabeth barrett browning's sonnets from the portuguese. i loved writing this and i really hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> i'm on tumblr @jeemmasimmons and on twitter @jemmasimmmons!

 

 

**_2019, somewhere in space_ **

 

Their bunk on the Zephyr is dark, and outside the small porthole window there are stars burning brightly, still light years out of reach. As Fitz steps forward to take her hand, Jemma thinks about how far she and her team have travelled in order to rescue one of their number and bring him home.

‘Are you sure about this?’ she asks softly, because she has to. She lost him once and the thought of losing him again, when she has fought so hard to find him, is something she refuses to contemplate.

Fitz kisses her, his lips gentle and loving. Since he’d woken up from his cryo-sleep, he’d complained hourly of feeling cold and Jemma had ransacked the Zephyr for blanket after blanket, slipping gloves on his fingers and even pulling a woolly beanie firmly down over his ears. Now though, every part of him she touches finally feels warm.

Without breaking their kiss, he steps them backwards until her knees hit the side of the bed. They fall onto it together, their limbs intertwined and their hearts beating as one.

‘Yeah,’ Fitz whispers, and with his thumb he brushes a loose strand of hair back from her forehead. ‘Always.’

As their eyes meet in the dark, Jemma can tell that this is a promise.

 

 

**_Three months later, the Lighthouse_ **

 

Almost a month after returning to Earth, Jemma is still struggling to adapt and it is beginning to frustrate her.

For the first few days, the entire team had suffered and, as she had the most experience dealing with re-adaptation syndrome, she had done all she could to ease their symptoms. She had prescribed peppermint tea to aid the nausea, light exercise for the fatigue and coordination, and regulated their salt intake to raise their blood pressures.

Gradually though, the others had begun to recover, leaving her behind to suffer the unabating consequences of almost six months in space on her own. At this point, it was nothing short of embarrassing.

One morning, Elena finds her throwing up her breakfast in the bathroom.

‘It’s okay to not be okay yet,’ she says, sinking to her knees to rub Jemma’s back. ‘You’ve spent longer in space than any of us. It makes sense that coming back to Earth will affect you a little bit differently, just try not to think about it too much.’

Which, Jemma thinks wearily, as she wipes the back of her mouth with a tissue and flushes the toilet, was easier said than done.

On leaving the bathroom, Elena turns left to head to the control room and Jemma’s feet take her right, in the direction of the lab. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she tries to smile at the agents she passes, feigning whatever normalcy she can while her head is still spinning and the back of her mouth tastes of bitter bile.

Since they’d been back, things at the Lighthouse had been forced to take on a new rhythm now that the end of the world was indefinitely postponed. It was far from business as usual, and it could never be what it had been at the Playground, but as new routines began to order their days Jemma was starting to see how SHIELD would rebuild itself to be the best it had ever been.

Mack and Daisy worked seamlessly as a team, dividing responsibilities based on their strengths and occasionally challenging the other, pushing them to their limits. Mack took on most of the day-to-day organisational tasks, while Daisy was expanding her skill set by learning to pilot the quinnjets. Their collaboration simultaneously made them better leaders and SHIELD a better organisation, and Jemma was hugely proud of them both.

May had come back to them days after their return to the Lighthouse. She had refused to disclose any information about what she’d been doing for the past six months, which would have been worrying if it wasn’t for the twinkle in her eye whenever anyone asked about Coulson.

‘Oh, I think we’ll see him again,’ she said knowingly. ‘Trust me.’

And, because she was May, they all did.

During their months in space, Elena had helped Jemma out with the engineering problems they’d encountered on the Zephyr, and discovered that she had a talent for it. Since then, she had followed Fitz around like a second shadow, eager to learn and even more willing to help. Fitz had taken her on with more than a little surprise and a great deal of gratitude, and Jemma had been touched to notice how patient her two most hot-headed teammates could be with each other during their teaching sessions.

And then there was Fitz himself…

Coming to a halt in front of the lab, Jemma feels her breath catch in her throat. Through the doorway, she can just make out the top of Fitz’s head, bent over a work bench as he concentrates on the device in front of him. It has been months, and still her heart leaps every time she catches sight of him.

Logically speaking, it ought to be Fitz taking the longest to adjust. After all, he was the one who had been frozen in space for months before being woken up seventy-three years earlier than he’d anticipated, only to find that the future he’d been trying to reach no longer existed. This on its own would have been a lot to take in, but combined with learning of his other self’s grisly death, Coulson’s illness and the aborted Armageddon, no one would have blamed him for struggling to take it all in.

But to his credit, Fitz had coped extraordinarily well. Granted, there had been several nights on the Zephyr that Jemma had stayed up with him, recounting the weeks he’d missed in painstaking detail and kissing away the tears that dribbled out onto his cheeks. There had been pain, and horror, and confusion as he learnt what he was capable of, of what he had done when the Doctor pushed through. At the same time though, there had been grim determination to never let it get that bad again, and Jemma had little trouble getting him to promise to tell her if he ever heard the Doctor’s voice again so that they could deal with it together. They were a team, and she had sworn to him that they would do whatever it took to stop it happening again.

Taking a deep breath, Jemma squares her shoulders and steps forward into the lab. If Fitz, after everything he’d been through, was able to adjust to being back home then surely she could too.

At the sound of her footsteps, Fitz looks up and gives her a sympathetic smile.

‘Hey. Are you feeling any better?’

‘Mmm.’ Jemma nods as she approaches his desk and returns the smile. ‘Much, thank you. What are you working on?’

Fitz spreads out his hands. ‘I took an ICER apart and now I’m labelling all the pieces. I figured I’d put it back together with Yo-Yo later, explain how and where they all fit.’ He glances at her, a little uncertain. ‘Does that sound like a good lesson?’

Ducking her head, Jemma kisses his cheek. Underneath her lips, his skin feels gloriously alive. ‘I think it sounds perfect.’

Leaving Fitz to his labelling, she drags a stool over to the opposite bench and takes up a fresh sheet of paper, more determined than ever to get her body feeling back to normal.

Jemma begins to detail her symptoms, before writing a solution to alleviate each one beside it. For her sickness, she could try ginger tea as well as peppermint. She could also try going to bed half an hour earlier each night to help her tiredness and vertigo, and as tempting as the bumper packs of ready-salted crisps were, perhaps substituting them for some high in protein nuts would be better for her cravings-

The realisation hits her like a bucket of ice water, and she sits up a little straighter, her heart pounding. Whilst all of her ailments are symptomatic of earth re-adaptation syndrome, looking at them grouped together like this reminds her that they are also symptoms of something very different indeed.

‘Jemma?’

Fitz’s voice jolts her out of her reverie, and Jemma looks up to find him standing next to her. He has a concerned look on his face, and is holding her pencil in his hand. She must have dropped it in her shock, and when she hadn’t gotten up to retrieve it he’d gotten worried.

‘Is everything alright?’ Fitz asks quietly as he passes the pencil back to her, his eyes flitting down to the page in front of her.

For the briefest of moments, Jemma thinks about telling him a white lie, even if just to buy a few hours to figure this out herself. But the thought is fleeting, and has passed almost before she has the time to consider it. They had promised always to be honest with each other, and besides, if this is what she thinks it is, she wants her best friend with her all the way.

‘No,’ Jemma says. ‘No, not quite. I need you to drive me somewhere.’

‘Oh.’ Fitz looks a little surprised, but quickly nods. ‘Yeah, sure, I can do that. Where do you need to go?’

Scrambling up from her stool, Jemma grabs her jacket from the bench and pockets her phone before spinning around to face him.

‘The pharmacy,’ she murmurs, and hurries out of the lab before she has to watch the realisation dawn on Fitz’s face.

 

At the River’s End pharmacy, they buy five pregnancy tests and are half way back to the car before Jemma decides to run back for five more, plus a bumper pack of vitamins and some cold and flu tablets. ‘Just because our base still looks how it did in the sixties,’ she reasons to Fitz, ‘doesn’t mean that our medicine cabinet has to as well.’

Back at the Lighthouse, they sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the bathroom floor as they wait for the test results. Jemma has lined the five sticks that they’d used up in front of them, equidistant to each other, and Fitz has set a timer on his phone. In three minutes, they will know for sure whether or not they are having a baby.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jemma sees Fitz glance across at her. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asks.

‘My nausea has finally abated,’ she tells him, drawing her knees up to her chest. ‘So that’s something to be thankful for. Although now I’m absolutely _starving_ …’

Fitz sighs. ‘As good as that is to hear, it wasn’t what I meant. I meant, how are you feeling about…’ He gestures to the pregnancy tests lying in front of them. ‘…this?’

Pursing her lips together, Jemma tries to formulate her thoughts. ‘It’s certainly unexpected,’ she admits.

‘Really?’ When she looks over at him, Fitz raises his eyebrows with a wry smile. ‘Even when you’ve met our fully-grown grandson?’

‘Who had come from another timeline,’ Jemma reminds him, feeling a dull ache in the base of her heart at the mention of Deke. ‘A timeline that ceased to exist when the loop was broken. All the certainty that came with that loop disappeared when he did, and when you-‘

She breaks off abruptly, unwilling to say the word that still tastes like ash in her mouth. Understanding this, Fitz slips his hand into hers and squeezes tight.

‘We’re in uncharted waters now,’ Jemma says. ‘None of this has ever happened before, and there are infinite possibilities for what comes next.’

‘And one of those possibilities,’ Fitz remarks, his voice tinged with awe, ‘is us having a baby. Right here, right now.’

Jemma regards him for a moment, taking in the way his eyes are shining and the corners of his mouth are lifting upwards, as if he wants to smile.

‘What about you?’ she asks softly. ‘How do you feel about this?’

Fitz gives a short laugh and pulls their joined hands into his lap. ‘Jemma, when I went to sleep I had no idea what I was going to wake up to. There was no guarantee that I’d make it to where you and the others were, or that if I did there’d be a way for us to get home. As much as I knew I wanted a future with you, I didn’t feel safe to imagine it. I couldn’t think past finding you.’

This time, it is Jemma’s turn to give his fingers a supportive squeeze.

‘To wake up,’ Fitz continues, ‘and find that not only could I imagine our future but that it was within our reach…once I’d gotten over the shock, it was a pretty incredible feeling.’

Jemma nods slowly. ‘That’s how I felt,’ she says, ‘when we were looking for you. There was always something that needed checking or researching. There was barely enough time to think about everything I _needed_ to think about, let alone what I might _want_ to think about. Even when I closed my eyes, all I could see were maps of the galaxy and light-speed calculations.’ She shrugs, remembering how exhausting it had been. ‘There wasn’t the space inside my head to think about anything that wouldn’t help me find you.’

‘How about now?’ Fitz says quietly. ‘Is there space now?’

Inhaling deeply, Jemma’s eyes flicker shut. For the first time since she’d been told Fitz was dead, she allows herself to revisit the surge of excitement she’d felt whenever the subject of their daughter had come up. It settles in the base of her stomach, a pleasant fluttering feeling that could, one day soon, turn into a heartbeat.

Feeling a smile tug at her lips, Jemma opens her eyes.

‘Yes,’ she admits happily. ‘Yes, there is.’

Fitz lets out a huff of breath. ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

‘What do you mean?’

There is a grin on his face that reaches from ear to ear as he holds up one of the pregnancy tests for her to see. ‘Our three minutes ended while you were monologuing. All of the sticks are positive.’

Jemma grabs the test from him and stares at it, feeling her heart thump against her chest as the enormity of his words sinks in.

‘I’m pregnant,’ she breathes, looking up at Fitz. ‘We’re going to have a baby.’

He nods, his face utterly alight. ‘Yeah. Yeah, we are.’

Delight bubbles up inside Jemma until she has to laugh, every part of her body feeling like it has been filled with light. She reaches for Fitz, and in one fluid movement he pulls her across his lap so that they can wrap their arms around each other.

Holding Fitz tightly to her, the only thing Jemma can feel is joy.

 

**_A week later_ **

 

‘Hey, Simmons. Can I borrow you for a sec?’

Jemma closes the lid of her laptop so fast it generates a small breeze. She is researching safety cots online and seeing as none of the team know she is pregnant yet, she isn’t all too keen for Mack to catch a glimpse of her screen and start asking questions.

Pining a cheerful smile to her face, Jemma hops off her stool. ‘Of course, Mack. What can I do for you?’

Mack gives her an odd look but passes her a tablet anyway. On the display, there a picture of a large, chrome chest with a heavy padlock on the front. Jemma zooms in on the image, and frowns at the sight of luminous green stains on the side of the chest.

‘Daisy and I picked it up on our mission to India this morning,’ Mack explains. ‘The local population seemed pretty disturbed by it. From what we could make out, they think it’s something alien.’

‘Did you put it in containment?’ Jemma asks immediately.

Mack nods. ‘We did. Nobody’s touched it, and it’s still secure in the loading bay. I was wondering if you’d mind coming down and checking it out for us? Make sure there’s nothing hazardous inside before we bring it onto the base.’

Behind his back, Jemma sees Fitz’s ears prick up. He has been tinkering with a device at the opposite end of the lab during their conversation, and Jemma knows exactly what word has caused him to pay attention. If he had wanted her to be cautious around hazardous material before, now that she is pregnant she knows he’d rather she avoid it entirely. Until they let the team in on the secret, however, that wasn’t an option.

Shooting Fitz a firm _I’ll be careful_ look, Jemma gives Mack back his tablet.

‘That shouldn’t be a problem. Shall we get started?’

To sooth both Fitz’s and her own nerves, Jemma insists on taking a hazmat suit to investigate the box. Luckily, Mack has known her long enough to trust her judgement without question and he agrees, carrying the suit down to the Zephyr for her.

There, as she struggles into the unwieldy fabric and organises her diagnostic equipment, Daisy frowns.

‘Hey, are you okay? You look kind of flushed.’

‘Hmm?’ Lifting her head, Jemma presses the back of her hand to her cheek. ‘Oh, I’m fine. It’s just quite warm down here, I suppose.’

Daisy, who is wearing a woollen jumper and a leather jacket, looks unconvinced but says nothing.

It is only as she pulls the hazmat helmet over her head that Jemma realises she is in fact feeling quite hot. And now that she comes to think about it, a little nauseous too. Discovering that she is pregnant has done nothing to cease her morning sickness; if anything, she swears it has gotten worse.

Jemma sighs, and fastens the strap of her helmet. The sooner she carries out her checks, the sooner she can head down to the kitchen and eat an entire packet of digestive biscuits.

‘Keep at least ten feet away,’ she instructs, and Mack and Daisy fall back, letting her climb the ramp to the loading bay on her own.

The chrome chest is zipped inside a containment unit and Jemma sends two dwarfs in to do a preliminary scan before she approaches it herself. After the images come through clear on her tablet, she steps forward and unzips the containment curtains to reveal the chest.

The front visor of her helmet is already fogging up with her breath, and Jemma is unnerved to find herself feeling claustrophobic, something she’d never experienced in a hazmat suit before. Swallowing down her nausea, she lifts the Geiger counter’s probe towards the chest.

‘Simmons?’ Mack’s voice sounds very far away. ‘Are you alright in there?’

‘I’m not getting any radiation readings,’ Jemma calls back, neatly sidestepping his original question. ‘But I’m fairly certain your locals were right. Whatever is inside here must be alien.’

‘Can you be one hundred per cent certain?’ Daisy asks.

Jemma grits her teeth and nods. ‘Give me a minute.’

Ungainly in her thick suit, she crouches beside the chest and taps at her tablet a few times. As it begins to run a further test, Jemma finds herself growing even warmer, and a faint buzzing starts in her ears as the sick feeling returns to her stomach. She breathes deeply, fighting back the urge to rip off her helmet and breathe in the fresh air, and keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the screen in front of her.

The dwarfs were scanning the contains of the chest for every element known to SHIELD, and since the organisation had many more elements in its database than a high school periodic table, it took rather a long time. Eventually however, her tablet beeps to tell her that the test is complete and a positive match appears on the screen.

Struggling to her feet, her nausea worse than ever and dark spots darting across her vision, Jemma feels the tablet slip from her fingers as she fumbles to pull off her helmet.

‘It’s perfectly safe,’ she hears herself say. ‘Nothing to be concerned about.’

Then the world tilts on its axis, and the last thing Jemma sees before she blacks out is the floor of the Zephyr rushing up to meet her.

 

She wakes up in a bed in the med bay, having been stripped of the horrible hazmat suit and with her head aching. Feeling something tight pull at her temple, Jemma frowns, wriggling her hand out from under a heavy blanket and lifting it up to find that she has a bandage wrapped around the top of her head.

‘I’d leave that alone, if I were you.’ At the sound of Daisy’s voice, Jemma turns her head in surprise. Her friend is sitting cross-legged on the chair beside her bed, giving her a small smile. ‘You hit your head pretty badly when you fell.’

Jemma tries to return the smile but as her memories of fainting come back to her she falters, feeling a flush of alarm in her veins. It wasn’t just her own body that she had to be concerned about anymore, and if her falling had done anything to hurt the baby –

‘It’s alright,’ Daisy says quickly, obviously having noticed her panic. ‘Jemma, the baby’s okay. Here, listen…’

She jumps up and presses a few buttons on the monitor above Jemma’s head. All of a sudden, the room is filled with a rhythmic pulsing sound and Jemma’s eyes fill with tears as she realises she is listening to her and Fitz’s child’s heartbeat for the first time.

‘We did an ultrasound while you were out to make sure he, or she, was okay,’ Daisy explains, allowing her to listen to the heartbeat for a little while longer before switching it off. ‘I thought you might want to hear it when you woke up, so I recorded it.’

Jemma’s relief at knowing her baby is safe is marred by a sudden wave of guilt.

‘Fitz told you, then,’ she guesses.

Daisy nods. ‘Yeah, as soon as he knew you’d passed out. You can’t blame him for telling us though, he was really worried. We all were.’

Jemma shakes her head, before pushing herself up into a sitting position. ‘No, of course I don’t. I would have done the same thing.’

She blinks, looking around the room. There are fresh bandages on the sideboard and the ultra-sound wand dangles from the machine with a bottle of gel beside it. On the chair next to Daisy’s, Fitz’s jacket hangs from the armrest, as though he had been there only moments before.

‘Where is he? Fitz?’

‘He’s helping Mack move the alien case into storage, since we could hardly keep it on the Zephyr,’ Daisy says. She holds up her phone and waves it at Jemma. ‘But I just sent him a text to tell him you were awake, so my guess is he’ll be back in a couple of minutes.’

Jemma nods, noting the way her whole body relaxes at this. It has been long enough since she’d seen him for her insides to twist with anxiety, and she can’t wait to feel his arms around her again, pulling her close and making her feel safe.

Daisy sinks back onto her chair, playing with the sleeve of her jacket. Sensing that she has more she wants to say, Jemma stays quiet.

‘We actually had a long talk,’ Daisy admits, ‘Fitz and I, while we were waiting for you to wake up.’

‘Oh?’ Jemma pretends ambivalence, at the same time as her heart jumps to hear this. ‘You did?’

Understandably, things between Fitz and Daisy had been more tense than usual since they’d found him. They had never had the opportunity to resolve the Doctor incident before he’d died and Jemma knew that Daisy had been torn up by the situation almost as much as she had been.

Daisy was still angry with Fitz, but the one they’d rescued hadn’t hurt her the way she remembered and, deep down, she still loved him. They had talked together once or twice in the months since, but for the most part Fitz had been giving her a wide berth, respecting her feelings and not wanting to make her face anything before she was ready. To hear that they had sat together as they waited for her to come around fills Jemma with hope for all three of them.

‘Yeah,’ Daisy says, and her lips curve into a smile again. ‘And it was a really good talk, the best we’ve had in a long time.’ Suddenly, her face falls serious. ‘Which is why I don’t understand how neither of you told me you were pregnant.’

_Ah_.

Feeling another twinge of guilt, Jemma shakes her head. ‘Daisy-‘

Before she can speak, however, her friend gets up to sit on the edge of the bed.

‘Jemma, listen. I know that things were…complicated between all of us for a while, and I know that I bear partial responsibility for that. But you and Fitz are still two of the people I love the most in the world. Even after everything that’s happened, you could have told me.’

‘No, Daisy.’ Jemma shakes her head. ‘It wasn’t because of that. Or at least not entirely.’

‘Okay.’ Daisy raises one eyebrow at her. ‘Care to elaborate?’

Sinking back against the pillows, Jemma thinks carefully about her next words. While Fitz hadn’t wholly agreed with her reasoning, he had at least understood and supported her desire not to tell the team straight away. She is not entirely sure that Daisy will react the same way.

‘We were travelling in space for almost six months,’ Jemma begins eventually. ‘And that’s a long time to be away from home.’ She gives Daisy a pointed look. ‘Especially if you’ve just inherited a covert spy agency tasked with protecting the world from the forces of evil.’

‘Yeah, but it was my choice to go with you,’ Daisy points out. Reaching across the blanket, she covers Jemma’s hand with her own. ‘There was no way we were going to let you go out there alone.’

‘I know,’ Jemma says softly, feeling a sudden flood of gratitude towards her friend. ‘But even so, you were away for a long time, all of us were. It’s taken a month to get SHIELD back up and running, and it’s going to take even longer to track down our agents, get re-legitimised and build the base up to standard.’

She watches Daisy’s lips twist; as much as she might like to argue with this, she can’t.

‘Fitz and I were the reason you had to go to space,’ Jemma says, and she shrugs. ‘After that, and everything that happened before, I felt like we owed you a just little more time to get things back to normal, before we interrupted your schedule again.’

Daisy’s forehead furrows, and she turns away to processes this. Jemma waits, folding her hands in her lap until Daisy turns back with a new determination on her face.

‘Okay,’ she says, ‘as your immediate superior, I probably should discipline you for withholding important medical information from the team.’

Jemma nods, but when Daisy pauses she takes the opportunity to ask hopefully: ‘but as my friend?’

With a deep sigh, Daisy takes up both of her hands and holds them.

‘Jemma, for as long as I have been a part of this team, you and Fitz have been our fixers. You find the solutions to our problems, and you come up with the hare-brained schemes that save the day. You make the tech that keeps us safe, and you patch us up when we come home. You’ve given your _lives_ to SHIELD.’ She gives a watery smile before adding, ‘one of you in a _very_ literal way.’

Jemma gives a snort of laughter, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Daisy grins at her and squeezes her hands.

‘SHIELD doesn’t need your baby’s life as well,’ she whispers.

Looking up at her through wet eyes, Jemma feels the tightness that had been pinching her chest loosen and, all of a sudden, she can breathe easy again.

On the bed, Daisy’s phone vibrates, making them both jump. Daisy flips the screen over to check the message and grins.

‘It’s Fitz,’ she reports, hopping off the bed. ‘He’s on his way up now, so I think I’ll head out.’ She waggles her eyebrows. ‘Give the two of you some privacy…’

Jemma scoffs and rolls her eyes, but grabs Daisy’s hand before she can move too far away. She pulls her friend close enough in to wrap her arms around her in a hug and it only takes a moment for Daisy to sink into it, dropping her head onto Jemma’s shoulder.

 ‘Thank you,’ Jemma whispers.

‘Yeah.’ Daisy pulls back and gives her a wink. ‘And thank _you_.’

She is half-way to the door before she turns back, holding up one finger as though she has just remembered something important.

‘Oh! One more thing…’ She flashes Jemma a stern look. ‘You’re officially barred from all field missions from now on, _and_ from working on anything involving hazardous substances. Are we clear?’

Jemma ducks her head to hide her smile.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

All things considered, it seems like a small price to pay.

 

That evening, Jemma takes the liberty of discharging herself from the medical bay and returns to her own bunk.

Despite her repeated protestations that she feels perfectly fine, Fitz insists on her taking things extra easy and Jemma has to admit that the tender care he is taking of her is incredibly endearing. He changes the bandage on her forehead, brings her a cup of tea, and even places an extra pillow underneath her feet before jumping into bed beside her.

He lifts up his arm, allowing her to tuck herself into his side, before bringing it protectively around her shoulders. He is reading a parenting book that he’d found in the dark depths of the Lighthouse earlier that week and now no longer needed to hide out of sight every time a member of their team walked past.

‘It was in a box in one of the bunks,’ he had explained to her, showing her how the book detailed the foetal development stages and early month milestones. ‘The place was stacked with stuff, completely random things, like some maniac hoarder was staying there. I don’t think anyone is though.’

Jemma hadn’t had the heart to tell him the bunk had been Deke’s.

She leans her head against his chest and smiles to feel the beats of his heart through his shirt, and the press of the ring hung around his neck. Soon after they’d found him, she’d split the two rings she’d been wearing on a chain and given one to him to wear. Now, he wears hers and she wears his, and they tease each other about who will propose first _this_ time. Secretly though, Jemma knows that there is no contest. This time, she wants to hear his every word.

As Fitz reads, Jemma starts to think, her mind wandering back to her earlier conversation with Daisy.

_SHIELD doesn’t need your baby’s life as well._

In the loop, their daughter had grown up in the Lighthouse. She had been born there, lived there, loved there. She had died there too, in the worst possible circumstances that she and Fitz had been powerless to prevent. Until, that is, they’d broken the loop.

‘You’re awfully quiet,’ Fitz murmurs. Setting his book down, he kisses the top of her head. ‘Everything okay?’

 ‘Yeah,’ Jemma says. ‘Just thinking.’

‘Okay.’ Fitz strokes her shoulder with his thumb before asking: ‘are you thinking about anything in particular?’

‘Mmm. Something important.’

‘Oh? And what’s that?’

Twisting in his arms, Jemma looks up at him. With one hand, she reaches up to touch his cheek and smiles to feel how warm it is. He is her living, breathing proof that time can be changed, and she loves him for it.

Giving Fitz a soft smile, Jemma takes a deep breath.

‘I think it’s time for us to say goodbye.’

 

 


	2. home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘When was the last time we did this?’
> 
> Leaning back in her chair, Jemma frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
> 
> Next to her, Fitz spreads out his arms, gesturing to the open-air café they are sitting in to eat their lunch. ‘This. Going for a meal out someplace normal, just the two of us.’
> 
> ‘It’s been a long time,’ Jemma admits, then throws him a rueful look. ‘Although I don’t think it’s quite fair to say that there are only two of us at this table.’
> 
> Fitz laughs. ‘Yeah, okay.’ He reaches out, and splays his fingers over her slow-growing baby bump. ‘In which case, I guess that makes this the first time all three of us have done this.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i originally planned this piece as a prequel to my fic 'hide and seek', but had to change some things due to the finale. so, if you notice any similarities to it that's why!! thank you for your kind comments on chapter one, i hope you enjoy this next one as much <3

 

 

**_Early spring 2019, Scotland_ **

****

‘When was the last time we did this?’

Leaning back in her chair, Jemma frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

Next to her, Fitz spreads out his arms, gesturing to the open-air café they are sitting in to eat their lunch. ‘This. Going for a meal out someplace normal, just the two of us.’

‘It’s been a long time,’ Jemma admits, then throws him a rueful look. ‘Although I don’t think it’s quite fair to say that there are only two of us at this table.’

Fitz laughs. ‘Yeah, okay.’ He reaches out, and splays his fingers over her slow-growing baby bump. ‘In which case, I guess that makes this the _first_ time all _three_ of us have done this.’

Grinning, Jemma links his fingers through her own and squeezes.

They have only been in Scotland for a day, having gone to Mack the week before to ask for some leave and for permission to extract some long overdue wages. Since none of them had been able to hold secure bank accounts since the Hydra fall out, all of their funding was controlled from Fury’s toolbox, which only the director had access to. Since their director was now Mack, they had no trouble obtaining exactly what they needed.

Taking an overnight bag, a quinnjet and a pilot, they had flown to Scotland, choosing the small village Jemma had stayed in as a child as their base. After waving Davis off from the airfield, they had walked into the village centre and booked a room at the B&B overlooking the green. Then, they’d spent the rest of the afternoon and all of this morning getting their bearings before their meeting with the estate agent in an hour.

It is less of a holiday, Jemma thinks to herself with a smile, and more of a homecoming.

When the waiter comes to remove their empty plates, she asks him for the dessert menu and Fitz’s eyebrows shoot up.

‘Really?’ he teases her once the waiter leaves. ‘ _You_ want to look at the dessert menu?’

Jemma rolls her eyes and arches her back, pushing out her belly pointedly. In retrospect, she should have anticipated the sugar cravings. After all, she was having her best friend’s baby.

‘Are you telling me that you don’t?’ she counters.

Fitz looks like he is about to reply, then catches sight of a tray of cakes going out to the table next door. Jemma watches him close his mouth, and swallow hard.

‘No.’

They share a slice of chocolate fudge cake that comes with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. Halfway through eating, Jemma notices that Fitz is slowly pushing the pieces with the biggest portion of icing her way and she grins. In return, she nudges the last of the ice cream in his direction with her spoon.

Fitz licks chocolate off his fingertips. ‘Can you show me the properties again?’

Jemma nods, and takes her phone out of her bag. Opening it, she brings up the estate agent’s email and the links to the properties he wanted to show them.

‘We’re seeing four today,’ she says, setting the phone on the table between them. ‘And all of them are within walking distance to the village, with at least three bedrooms and a garden of some kind. Other than that, I gave him free rein to show us whatever he thought best.’

Using his forefinger, Fitz scrolls through the pictures the estate agent had sent of the properties. ‘You can hardly see them on here,’ he complains, squinting at the screen.

Jemma chuckles. ‘Yes, Fitz, which is why we’re going to see them in _person_.’ She tucks her phone back into her bag and frowns. ‘You know, just because we’re here now doesn’t mean that this is where we have to live. If there’s somewhere else you want to visit, to see if they have a place that’s a better fit, I don’t mind. It’s going to be your home too.’

‘My home,’ Fitz says immediately, ‘is with you. Wherever you are. So, if you’re happy here, then so am I.’ He pauses, before adding, ‘plus, the deli here is absolutely amazing.’

With a laugh, Jemma reaches up to give him a soft kiss on the lips.

‘We’d better get going soon,’ she says, nodding to the waiter over his shoulder, who quickly brings them their bill. ‘Mr Jones will be waiting.’

Fitz nods, and drops a twenty pound note on the table, with a few extra coins as tip. He gets to his feet and offers her his arm, which Jemma takes gratefully. Despite only being four months along in her pregnancy, she is already struggling with pain in her back and feet, that had only been exacerbated by the seven-hour transatlantic flight.

‘We’ve been very lucky with the weather today,’ she remarks as they leave the café, peering up at the crystal-clear sky. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sky so blue.’

Fitz hums appreciatively. ‘It almost feels like Scotland’s just as pleased that we’re here as we are to be here.’

Grinning, Jemma tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow as they set out across the village green.

‘It does, doesn’t it?’

 

Unfortunately for them, the good weather lasts only as long as their walk to the estate agents.

By the time they have shaken hands with Mr Jones there is thunder is rumbling in the distance, and when he suggests they make a start on their viewings, they step outside to find that the blue sky has vanished and fat raindrops are falling onto the pavement.

‘Rotten Scottish weather,’ Fitz grumbles as he battles with an unruly umbrella emblazoned with the estate agents’ logo. Tactfully, Jemma says nothing and hides her smile up her sleeve.

Huddled underneath the umbrella, they follow Mr Jones to the first property. It is a new-build cottage overlooking the green, and as he enthuses about it Fitz and Jemma share a look: the estate agents have clearly been paid by the property developer to promote their plots.

‘It’s got all the latest mod cons,’ Mr Jones says, as he shows them into a sparkling clean kitchen, ‘including a smart home system. Temperature, lighting, music selection…All of it can be done for you, at the touch of a button.’

Jemma turns towards Fitz, who has blanched at the idea of an AI controlling their home. She flashes their estate agent a conciliatory smile.

‘I think we’ll pass.’

The next property is a 1970’s bungalow a little way out of the village. It is next to the river, and as they walk down the lane leading up to the house, they find themselves under attack from a swarm of midges.

‘The authentic country experience,’ Mr Jones calls over his shoulder, as Fitz accidentally swallows one of the bugs.

Inside, the bungalow’s décor is stuck in a time warp, with an avocado bathroom suite, mahogany wood panelling and the kind of wallpaper that looked like an optical illusion if it is stared at for too long. The garden would have been the house’s one redeeming feature, with long sprawling lawns and a large patio, if it hadn’t been so close to the river you could smell the algae.

‘Oh, Fitz! Look!’ Jemma holds up her arm excitedly, where a large black mosquito has just landed. ‘A culicidae!’

With one swift movement, Fitz reaches across her to swat the mosquito away. He tugs down her jacket sleeve and gives Mr Jones a firm shake of the head.

‘No.’

At first glance, the third property seems practically perfect. It has their minimum three bedrooms, a private car parking space and is situated on a quiet lane in the village near the bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread follows Fitz and Jemma as they step through the front door and into the cottage.

It is an empty shell inside, with cream carpets, white walls, and wood blinds on all the windows. It is fresh and modern, although there is something rather empty about the place that Jemma can’t quite put her finger on. She glances at Fitz, who shrugs. This, at least, seems like a possibility.

All that changes, however, when they follow Mr Jones out the backdoor into what he had pitched to them as the property’s secluded garden area. Instead, they find themselves in a narrow alleyway between the cottage wall and its neighbour’s, with weeds growing through the paving slabs and a singular potted plant.

‘A talented gardener,’ the estate agent says optimistically, ‘can transform even the smallest space into a garden to be proud of.’

Suppressing a groan, Jemma follows Fitz back out the way they had come.

As they wait outside the agency for Mr Jones to pick up the keys to their fourth and final property of the day, Jemma sees Fitz watching her anxiously.

She tilts her head to one side. ‘Fitz? What is it?’

‘Hmm? Oh, no, it’s nothing.’ When she raises an eyebrow at him, he sighs. ‘Look, I’m just thinking. It’s five o’clock now, and it’s going to be another twenty minutes before we get to this place. We’re both wet through and we’ve been on our feet since lunch time. If I’m exhausted, Jemma, I can only imagine how you’re feeling.’

Jemma opens her mouth, then closes it again. She _had_ found herself leaning rather more heavily on his arm during their last viewing, and evidently it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

‘The places we’ve seen today have been pretty disappointing,’ Fitz continues with a grimace. ‘Why don’t we just forget about this last one and head back to the B&B? We can get cleaned up, you can rest for a while before dinner and then we can have an early night, ready to start again tomorrow.’

Pursing her lips, Jemma considers this for a moment before shaking her head. As achy as her feet are and however good a hot bath sounds, this search is important to her. She wants to find their child a home, even if she has to walk through a thousand crappy viewings to do it.

‘It’s only one more place,’ she wheedles, taking Fitz’s hand in hers. ‘And Mr Jones said that this one has a lot of interest, so if we go see it another time it might be too late. We’ll just be another hour, and then we’ll go back to the B&B.’

‘Knowing our luck,’ Fitz grumbles, ‘it’ll just be another blowout.’

Jemma laughs, knowing that this means he agrees. ‘Maybe so. But we have to see it, even just for its name.’

When Fitz gives her a quizzical look, she opens her phone to show him the property details. He stares at the screen, and when a slow smile spreads across his face he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses the back of it.

Twenty minutes later, they are following the estate agent through the gate of Dòchas Cottage, which, in Scots-Gaelic, means hope.

 

The cottage is larger than any of the other properties they’d seen, with four bedrooms, a garden and a separate orchard. It’s closer to the village than the bungalow had been, which meant that instead of the river there is only a small stream running by the house, but it is far enough way to give them a little distance from the main high street.

Inside, the place is full of dust, making Fitz sneeze, but beyond that Jemma can see that it has retained many of its original features. There are wood beams in the ceiling and an old stone fireplace in the sitting room. In the kitchen, there is a space carved out in the wall for an Aga, and when Mr Jones trips over the edge of the rug, Jemma notices that it is covering hardwood floors.

There is something different about this property, something she hadn’t felt about any of the others. It fires her imagination, letting her picture their photographs on the walls and their clothes hung in the bedroom. As Jemma walks along the landing, running one hand along the wall next to the second bedroom, she even allows herself to imagine the sound of a child’s laughter and the patter of tiny feet along the floorboards.

On legs trembling with anticipation, she climbs down the stairs and heads out into the garden, when Mr Jones had been eager to show Fitz the cottage grounds. Stepping out the back door, Jemma is greeted by a rolling green lawn and grass growing up to her ankles, with white daisies dotted about.

She can hear running water, and is just starting out across the lawn to look at the brook when the sound of Fitz’s voice calling her name makes her turn back. He is running across the grass to meet her, his eyes shining and his face flushed.

‘Mr Jones just showed me the barn,’ he says, ‘and it would make an ideal lab, Jemma, for if SHIELD ever needed us to weigh in on anything, because, let’s be honest, they will. And I know that inside isn’t perfect, but I think that with a few coats of paint and some new wiring I could make it better. I think…’

He trails off, and Jemma watches a look fall over his face that she had once thought she might never see again. It is the look that comes when he is putting together an idea, when he is growing excited about a project’s potential. He beams at her.

‘I think I could make this our home.’

Over his shoulder, Jemma catches sight of a plant growing on a trellis over the backdoor. It is a rose, and an early blooming one at that, because she can see small buds growing with their pink petals looking almost ready to burst through. Looking at this reminder that, no matter what happens, life can begin again, she smiles.

 

**_One month later_ **

 

They call the Lighthouse and cancel their flight back, moving out of the B&B and into a set of rented rooms above the florists. During one very long trip to the bank, with Mack joining them via FaceTime, they are delighted to discover that their finances are in better shape than they’d expected.

Thanks to their back payment of wages and the funds from the patents Fitz had been smart enough to put on his designs while they were at the Academy, they had more than enough money to buy their cottage. In fact, between the two of them they had enough money to buy it twice over.

Gripping Fitz’s hand tightly under the desk, Jemma has to fight down her excitement. Their new home is taking shape, right in front of her eyes.

Once they know they are staying in Scotland longer, Jemma visits the local GP and gets herself registered. There, she has her twenty-first week scan with Fitz by her side, and sees their baby for the first time.

As the grainy, black and white image appears on the screen, Jemma’s throat closes up and her eyes swim with tears.

‘Here’s the head,’ the sonographer says unnecessarily, pointing. ‘And here are the arms and legs. You see?’

Jemma nods, wordlessly.

‘Beautiful,’ Fitz murmurs from beside her. He is staring at the screen, just as mesmerised as she is. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’

And it is, Jemma thinks, as they share a watery smile. It really is.

The sonographer prints them out multiple copies of the scan and they take them back to their apartment, where Jemma sticks them to the fridge with a novelty ‘Welcome to Scotland!’ magnet. Fitz takes one, thumbing the edges affectionately, and pins it to the living room wall in the cottage.

‘This way,’ he says when Jemma sees it, ‘I will always remember who I’m building this for.’

It is corny, and sentimental, and absolutely gets him laid that night.

Over the coming weeks, Fitz meets with developers and contractors, sending off letters for planning permission and arguing on the phone with suppliers. In the evenings, Jemma sits with him as they pore over blueprints and plans, each of them intent on building the best possible home for their growing child.

At night, they lie together in the double bed of their apartment with their hands clasped over Jemma’s swelling belly, and dream.

One morning, about a month after their purchase of the cottage, Fitz rents a van and they drive to the nearest B&Q. It is in Perth, about fifty miles out, and it takes them most of the morning to get there with regular breaks in petrol station cafés along the way. The baby is beginning to press uncomfortably on Jemma’s bladder, and as she hurries to use the bathroom Fitz orders cup after cup of takeaway tea, usually with a chocolate bar on the side.

By the time they pull into the B&Q car park, there is a small mountain of wrappers on Jemma’s lap.

After dumping their rubbish in a nearby bin, they slot a pound into the trolley park and wheel their trolley into the store. Jemma had made a list in the car, but as soon as they find themselves in the middle of the massive warehouse, all her careful planning goes out of the window.

Instead, they wander aimlessly up and down the aisles, staring at all the hardware lining the shelves. Their entire adult lives have been spent building things, designing and creating tools to fit a purpose, but somehow this equipment feels different to what they’ve been used to using. In some ways, of course, it is familiar, but it is also new, and exciting, and full of possibility.

They spend longer than they probably should at the paint station, examining colour charts and reading leaflets on the benefits of matt emulsion vs full gloss emulsion.

‘How about this one?’ Fitz asks, pointing out a muted lilac shade on the shelf.

Jemma pulls a face. ‘Fitz, we want our child to _sleep_ in their room, not vomit. Pick again.’

Rolling his eyes, he steps back to examine the paint pots again. As he does so, Jemma notices that they have both adopted the same stance, both hands pressed into the grooves of their back above their hips. It makes her smile.

‘The nursery is quite a small space,’ she goes on. ‘And as it’s under the eaves it’ll be quite dark. We need a colour that will lighten the room, and also make it seem larger.’

Fitz snorts. ‘When did you become such an expert on interior design?’

‘I’ll have you know, those leaflets are highly informative.’

‘Okay, how about this?’ Reaching up on tiptoe, Fitz lifts down a tin of paint. ‘We paint three walls white and use this on the fourth.’

He turns the can around to show Jemma the colour he has chosen. It is a soft yellow, and Jemma can immediately see how well it will look painted on the wall of their baby’s bedroom. Taking it from him, she drops it into the trolley and brushes off her hands.

‘Perfect.’

They pick up a couple of tins of white paint and a duck egg blue for the kitchen that Jemma has fallen in love with and move on to the furniture section. There, they place orders for a new bathroom suite and a pine kitchen table, and briefly contemplate buying a kitchen range before Fitz assures Jemma that he can source her an authentic Aga instead.

‘Hey.’

Jemma is flicking through sofa catalogues when she feels Fitz’s hand on her arm. She turns.

‘I’m going to check out the flat pack cots,’ he tells her. ‘Be back in a minute, yeah?’

When she nods, he kisses her on the cheek and heads back down the aisle. Turning back to her catalogues, Jemma cannot help but smile. Fitz had scorned DIY cribs and insisted on building their baby’s one from scratch himself, but she has glanced at his designs and knows he is struggling. Probably, he has secreted his notebook underneath his jacket and is taking sneaky notes on how the flat packs were put together.

Fifteen minutes later, she has narrowed it down to two options – a dove grey suite in a soft material, or a squashy sofa and chair in a honey coloured leather. Satisfied with her circled options, Jemma makes her way to the flat pack furniture aisle, only to find it empty. Fitz is no longer there.

Feeling anxiety twist inside her, Jemma swallows back her panic. It is a large store, she tries to reason with herself, with many things to look at. Fitz had probably seen his fill of cots, and moved on to find something else. With one hand on her bump and the other flexing restlessly by her side, she heads up the aisle, her feet moving rather faster than usual.

The aisle next to the flat packs is garden furniture, and it is here that she finds him, sitting on a low children’s garden chair and staring up at the shelves. Heaving out a deep, relieved sigh, Jemma allows herself a moment for her heartbeat to return to its regular pace before approaching him.

‘Hi,’ she says softly, touching him on the shoulder so as not to startle him. ‘Here you are.’

Fitz blinks, as though her touch has pulled him out of an intense daydream, then manages to give her a smile. ‘Yeah. I’m here.’

There is a beanbag chair next to him, and it is into this that Jemma lowers herself. She sinks into the fabric, her growing bump making her movements heavy and awkward, and acknowledges how ungraceful she will be when she has to get out again. Right now, though, this doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is Fitz.

He has gone back to staring at the shelves, which Jemma now notices are filled with boxes of children’s games. Pictures of laughing families cover the cardboard, evidently having the time of their lives.

‘Is everything alright?’ she asks quietly.

He nods, then shakes his head. ‘I just…I got a little overwhelmed for a moment. Needed to sit down. Sometimes it’s still hard to believe that this is really happening.’

Understanding this feeling, Jemma nods and shifts her beanbag a little closer.

‘It’s okay,’ she whispers, ‘it’s okay to feel that way. I know that I still do sometimes.’

Fitz gives a shuddering sigh and drags his hand across his face. Then, he looks up at her.

‘I am,’ he says, ‘so happy that we’re here. This is where I’ve always wanted to be – with you, building our family. I just…’ He shrugs, helplessly. ‘I want to make sure I do it _right_.’

Feeling a surge of love for him so strong it aches, Jemma reaches over to grasp his hands.

‘You will, Fitz,’ she says warmly. ‘I promise.’

They sit there in silence for a few minutes before Jemma’s feet start to tingle and she has to get up. Fitz has to all but lift her out of the beanbag she has sunk so far into it, and by the time they are both on their feet they are almost bent double with laughter. This does something to break the tension but as they pay for their purchases and Fitz loads them into the back of the van, Jemma finds herself still thinking about what he’d said.

‘Fitz?’

‘Hmm?’ He slams the van doors shut and turns to her. ‘Yeah?’

Jemma steps towards him, knowing now that they need to do something they’ve both been putting off for a long time. She gives him a small smile, and tilts her head to one side.

‘I think we should call your mum.’

 

‘I could wait over there if you’d like to talk to her alone.’

Fitz shakes his head. ‘No, I’d actually prefer it if you stayed.’ He gives a rueful grin. ‘Besides, we both know that within five minutes she’ll ask to speak to you and I’ll have to call you over. Might as well save us both some time.’

Returning the smile, Jemma sinks back onto the bench.

They had passed a small park on their way to the B&Q and when Fitz had agreed to her suggestion of ringing his mum, Jemma had voiced it as a good place to stop. Now, they are sitting side by side on a bench opposite the duck pond and Fitz has his phone in his hand, ready to make the call. Jemma waits, knowing fully well how difficult it could be to dial such a familiar number.

She had phoned her own parents shortly after the battle in Chicago. Biting back hot tears at the sound of their voices, she had told them as little as possible, whilst still trying to sooth their concerns. She would be off the grid for a while, she had told them. She would be unreachable, as would her team, but they didn’t need to worry. Everything would be alright.

Jemma feels a twinge of guilt as she remembers that she hadn’t had the courage to make a similar call to Glasgow. Partly, she knows that this had been a selfish decision. She couldn’t have fobbed Andrea Fitz off with the same vague explanations she had her parents, and the idea of telling her the truth had made Jemma feel physically sick.

But now, in encouraging Fitz to make the call she hadn’t been brave enough to make herself, she hopes she can make up in part for that. After all, this time she hasn’t just brought Andrea her son back. She has also brought her a grandchild.

The dial tone rings out, and Andrea picks up on the third ring.

‘ _Hello?_ ’

Fitz sucks in a gasp at the sound of her voice, ringing out loud and clear between them. ‘Uh, hi, Mum. It’s me.’

There is a pause. ‘ _Leo? Is that really you?_ ’

‘Yeah.’ Fitz’s features have already softened, as they always did when he spoke to his mum. ‘Yeah, Mum, it’s me. How are you doing?’

‘ _Well, much better now that I’ve heard from you! It’s been such a long time, love_.’

‘I know, Mum, and I’m so sorry for that.’ Jemma watches as Fitz sighs, and feels another guilty pang. ‘We’ve been-‘

‘ _Off the grid, yes, I heard_ ,’ Andrea finishes for him. ‘ _I spoke to Harold and Jessica some months ago and they told me all that Jemma had said to them. A similar phone call would have been nice_ ,’ she admonishes, but even over the phone Jemma can tell she isn’t really cross with him. How could she be?

Fitz smiles sadly, his eyes filling with tears. ‘I should have called,’ he admits. ‘You’re right, Mum, and I’m sorry again. It’s just that there really wasn’t a lot of time, and I knew you’d speak to the Simmonses at some point anyway…’

‘ _Speaking of the Simmonses_ ,’ Andrea interrupts, characteristically changing the subject. ‘ _Is Jemma there? Can I speak to her?_ ’

Jemma grins as Fitz flashes her an _I-told-you-so_ look and moves the phone in between them.

‘Hello, Andrea,’ she says, ‘I’m here. You’re on speakerphone!’

‘ _Jemma, love!_ ’ Andrea greets her, her voice lifting happily. ‘ _It’s so good to hear from you. How are you?_ ’

‘I’m well, thank you,’ Jemma tells her, glancing up nervously at Fitz.

They had discussed announcing the pregnancy in this phone call, but now that she has the perfect opening for it she falters. Really, the good news ought to come from him. Fitz seems to understand this, because he slips his hand into hers and takes a deep breath.

‘Actually, Mum,’ he says with only the faintest tremor in his voice. ‘Jemma’s very well indeed.’ He gives her one last look, and Jemma nods, giving him an encouraging smile in return. ‘She’s, ah…well, she’s pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.’

‘You’re going to be a grandmother, Andrea,’ Jemma adds. ‘How does that sound?’

For a moment, there is silence on the other end of the phone, and Jemma finds herself holding her breath. From the way Fitz’s grip on her fingers tightens, she knows that he is doing the same thing.

‘ _Do you know_ ,’ Andrea says eventually, her words slow and careful, ‘ _I think this might be the most wonderful news I’ve ever received._ ’

The way that Fitz lets out his breath is so comic that Jemma has to laugh, all the anticipation that had been curled in her stomach completely dissipating.

‘ _Congratulations_ ,’ Andrea is saying, between her own delighted laughter, ‘ _congratulations, both of you! Oh, how wonderful._ ’ Her beaming smile is audible through the phone. ‘ _How absolutely_ wonderful _!_ ’

‘It is,’ Fitz agrees, and he grins over at Jemma. ‘We’re so happy you’re happy.’

‘ _But of course I’m happy! And I’m so pleased for you, my loves, I really am. Jemma, has everything been alright? No problems? How far along are you?’_

Smiling at how _warm_ Andrea always made her feel, Jemma tries to answer her eager questions in succession.

‘Yes, everything’s been fine so far,’ she says, as Fitz taps the wooden slats of their bench. ‘Some rather unpleasant morning sickness at the start, but that seems to finally be stopping now. And, I’m about five months along.’

There is a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. ‘ _Five_ months _?_ ’ Andrea scolds. ‘ _Leopold James, how could you wait so long before telling me? Do you have any idea how long it takes to knit even a single cardigan? I’ll have to get the girls from my bridge club to help me, if I want to get the wardrobe ready in time._ ’

‘I’m sure they won’t mind helping out, Mum,’ Fitz says, suppressing an eye-roll. ‘And don’t go crazy with the knitting, okay? The baby will be born in September, they won’t need a full snowsuit right away.’

‘We thought we’d come down and see you soon,’ Jemma quickly jumps in, anticipating how this conversation could snowball. ‘Would that be alright? We could stay a few days, bring you a copy of the ultrasound scan…’

‘ _Of course!_ ’ Andrea perks up instantly. ‘ _Of course you can, my love, I’d be delighted to see you. Just let me know when, alright? I’ll get something nice in for dinner. I imagine you’re wanting a lot of sweet things right now, hmm?_ ’

‘I am!’ Jemma shakes her head in disbelief. ‘How did you know?’

There is a soft chuckle. ‘ _My darling, you’re having a Fitz. What else would you be wanting?_ ’

As Jemma gives a quiet huff of laughter, Fitz clears his throat.

‘We’ll come soon, Mum. I promise.’

‘ _And I will hold you to that, love_.’ All of a sudden, Andrea’s voice turns business-like. ‘ _Now, as wonderful as it has been to speak to you both, you’re holding me up. I must go and find my needles. These booties aren’t going to knit themselves_.’

Throwing Jemma a knowing look, Fitz nods. ‘That’s alright, Mum, we’ll let you get off. Talk soon, okay?’

‘ _Mmm. Oh, and Leo? One more thing_.’

Andrea pauses, before heaving a soft sigh.

‘ _You’re going to be a magnificent father_ ,’ she says gently. ‘ _Just you wait_.’

Next to her, Jemma feels Fitz’s shoulders sag, and she squeezes his hand supportively, sending a telepathic thanks to Andrea for understanding exactly what her son had needed to hear. Between the two of them, she hopes that they have convinced him.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ Fitz whispers. He blinks, and Jemma reaches out her thumb to brush away a leaked tear. ‘I love you.’

‘ _And I love you too_ ,’ Andrea replies. ‘ _So much_.’

Once she has hung up, Fitz quietly slides his phone back into his pocket.

‘Better?’ Jemma asks.

Exhaling slowly, Fitz nods. ‘Yeah.’ When he looks at her, Jemma can see in his eyes that this is the truth. ‘Yeah. Thank you.’

He leans his head to the side, resting it on her shoulder. His hand comes up to cradle her bump, rubbing his thumb against the thin material of her shirt and deep inside her, Jemma feels a substantial fluttering as the baby kicks.

‘I love you,’ Fitz murmurs.

With a smile, Jemma brings her own head down to rest it on top of his.

‘I love you too.’

Sitting on that bench in the sunshine, with him by her side and their baby moving inside her, Jemma doesn’t think that she has ever felt so loved.

 

 


	3. hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first fight comes six weeks after they begin renovating Dòchas Cottage.
> 
> The work is slow-going, especially as Fitz wants to do the majority of it single-handedly. There are only so many contractors in the village and he doesn’t want to employ them when they could be working for someone else.
> 
> ‘Besides,’ he’d added when Jemma had voiced her concerns about this. ‘It’s not as if I’m not capable of painting a few walls. I built a bloody aircraft, for God’s sake.’
> 
> Secretly though, Jemma knows there is another reason for his reluctance to hire anyone else. This is the first time in years that she has seen him so excited about a project, and after their day trip to B&Q he has only thrown himself more whole-heartedly into it. He is proud of what they are building together and he doesn’t want to risk making any mistakes. 
> 
> Because of this, and because she doesn’t want to make any either, Jemma swallows her worries and lets him get on with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter gave me a lot of trouble, but i'm really pleased with the end result! hopefully you are too. thank you so much for you kind comments, they mean a lot to me <3

 

 

**_June 2019, Scotland_ **

 

Their first fight comes six weeks after they begin renovating Dòchas Cottage.

The work is slow-going, especially as Fitz wants to do the majority of it single-handedly. There are only so many contractors in the village and he doesn’t want to employ them when they could be working for someone else.

‘Besides,’ he’d added when Jemma had voiced her concerns about this. ‘It’s not as if I’m not capable of painting a few walls. I built a bloody aircraft, for God’s sake.’

Secretly though, Jemma knows there is another reason for his reluctance to hire anyone else. This is the first time in years that she has seen him so excited about a project, and after their day trip to B&Q he has only thrown himself more whole-heartedly into it. He is proud of what they are building together and he doesn’t want to risk making any mistakes.

Because of this, and because she doesn’t want to make any either, Jemma swallows her worries and lets him get on with it.

Today, he is rewiring the kitchen, since the building inspector had decreed the place a flick of a switch away from a major fire. He is humming as he works, a pleasant sound that radiates all around the house.

Jemma is sitting in the baby’s room, sorting through the piles of clothes Andrea Fitz had given them when they’d gone to visit. Clearly, she either knitted a lot faster than she’d let on or she’d anticipated the baby’s coming even before they had. There are pairs of booties, button-up cardigans and even a patchwork blanket for the cot. Jemma’s own parents have sent things too, picture books and printed sleepsuits, all of which she folds lovingly into drawers, ready to be used.

After a while though, the fresh paint fumes start to make her dizzy, and she heads out to the garden instead. It is a balmy early summer afternoon, with few clouds in the sky and a light breeze drifting over the valley. Pressing at a sore spot in the small of her back, Jemma inhales the freshness of the air. After years spent living in underground bunkers, it is a small pleasure she will never tire off.

Turning her head, Jemma notices a pair of pruning shears leaning next to the cottage wall, with a wicker basket next to them. Smiling, she bends down to pick them both up. At least by doing this she will be outside.

The cottage’s previous owners had obviously been enthusiastic, if overly ambitious, gardeners. The beds on either side of the sprawling lawn are full of all kinds of plants: some bushes, some shrubs, some growing up the wall like vines. Jemma isn’t sure yet which are salvageable, but she decides to start with an unruly fuchsia bush near to the orchard gate. It might not be the most urgent job but, she acknowledges with a grimace, it is one that she can do without her blossoming stomach getting in the way.

Pulling her hair back into a low ponytail, Jemma slips on a pair of gardening gloves and gets to work. She has never had much opportunity for gardening before, and quickly finds that she likes it. It is slow, and hands on, and she likes knowing that with every snip of her shears she is creating a new opportunity for life to grow.

It is such an absorbing activity that she almost misses the crash that comes from the kitchen.

Jemma blinks, pulling off her gloves and looking up from her work towards the house.

‘Fitz?’ she calls.

Shading her eyes against the sun, she sees a cloud of dust billow out of the kitchen window, mingling with the heat haze on the horizon. From inside the house, there is silence.

The pruning shears fall from Jemma’s hand. A cold sense of dread creeps into her chest, clutching at her heart, and suddenly she finds herself running across the grass to the back door.

Inside, the kitchen looks like a bomb has hit it. There are tarpaulin sheets covering the floorboards and wires pulled out. The worst part, however, is the pile of rubble in the corner, where it looks as if the ceiling has given in.

Jemma can’t breathe. She puts out one hand to brace herself on the wall, and when she can’t find it she staggers, almost falling. For one, horrifying moment, she is back in the lab on the Zephyr and Mack is standing before her with a look on his face so empty that it tells her all she needs to know. There is dust up her nose and in her lungs, and it is suffocating her.

‘Jemma?’

Jemma blinks again. All at once, the dust settles, and the nightmare fades as Fitz steps through the doorway next to the pile of rubble. He is wearing a set of safety earmuffs and gives her an odd look as he slides them off his ears.

‘I thought you were in the garden. That’s why I decided the bring the plaster down now, so that you wouldn’t be disturbed by the dust. The damp made this part of the ceiling unsalvageable, I’m afraid, and so I needed to…Jemma, what is it?’

Jemma has brought her hands up to her head, pressing the base of her palms into her temples in an attempt to stop the room from spinning.

‘You can’t do this anymore.’

‘What do you mean?’ Fitz pulls a confused face, and gestures to the chaos around him. ‘The kitchen isn’t a part of the original cottage structure. The planning permission came through weeks ago-‘

‘ _No_ , Fitz!’ Jemma can feel her breath coming in short, sharp gulps as her pulse beats frantically in her ears. ‘You can’t do this anymore. It’s too dangerous. We- we’ll have to call somebody, get them to come in and finish it…’

Looking between her and the pile of rubble, something seems to finally click in Fitz’s mind, and when he speaks again his voice is far gentler.

‘Jemma, I was perfectly safe. We all were, I made sure of that. The structuring was sound and the detonation was controlled. I checked that you were still outside and went out the front door to detonate it. I should have warned you I was doing it, I’m sorry, but I thought you were too far away to hear.’

Jemma’s hands fall back to her sides, still shaking.

‘I’m sorry,’ Fitz repeats, and she can tell how much he means it. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘But it _will_ , Fitz!’

Despite her immediate panic starting to abate, Jemma can feel all her bottled up anxieties from the past year start to spill out of her. She gives a short laugh, and shakes her head at him.

‘It _will_ , because I still get scared every time we’re apart. I get scared when I wake up in the night, and you’re in the bathroom, and for a moment I have no idea where you are. I get scared when we’re out, and I turn around and I can’t see you right away.’

Tears begin to blur her vision, but she presses on.

‘I have all these memories of being alone and thinking you were gone and the idea of feeling like that again _terrifies_ me, now more than ever. I don’t ever want to feel that way again, but I can’t stop being afraid, Fitz!’ The words tumble out of her, and Jemma sucks in a shuddering breath, brushing a hand over her eyes, before confessing: ‘I don’t know _how_.’

When she looks up, Fitz is staring at her and, as she watches, an expression of resolution dawns on his face. He takes a step forward, and with three strides he has crossed the room to her and is kissing her as though his life depends on it.

There had never been any doubt in Jemma’s mind that Fitz still found her physically attractive since she’d been pregnant. They still kissed and made love, and if anything, his attentions had only become more tender. This kiss, though, is something else entirely.

Fitz’s hands cup her face, sliding through her hair as he deepens the kiss. His lips press against her, so hard it feels as if he is trying to leave a mark of his desire. It is only a moment before Jemma has looped her arms around his neck and is kissing him back.

They sway together in the middle of their kitchen, their lips eagerly dancing over each other as their hearts beat with one rhythm. Jemma sucks at Fitz’s bottom lip as his hands slip to her waist, and she marvels at how close he manages to pull her, even with her six-months pregnant bump between them.

Their kiss is passionate, and familiar, and warm. It tastes like a decade of friendship and love, and in Fitz’s arms with his lips on hers, Jemma feels safer than she ever has.

They do not pull apart. Instead, they simply exhale and stop, their foreheads dropping to rest against each other’s. Fitz’s gaze flicks up from Jemma’s lips and he meets her eye.

‘Marry me,’ he breathes.

For a split second, she is speechless. ‘What?’

Fitz gives a soft laugh, and drops to one knee in front of her. He fumbles at the front of his shirt until he brings out his chain with her wedding ring dangling from it. He lifts it up to show her, allowing the stone to gleam in the sunlight streaming through in the window.

‘Jemma Anne Simmons,’ he says, pronouncing each part of her name carefully, ‘I love you more than anything in this universe, or any other. Marry me, and I promise you I will do everything I can to make sure you never feel alone again.’

It is an honest promise, and one that Jemma believes with her whole heart.

Tears springing to her eyes once more, she begins to slowly lower herself to the floor. Fitz helps her, letting her use his forearms to balance herself, until she is kneeling in front of him and they are face to face. With one hand, Jemma reaches out to touch his cheek.

‘Yes,’ she says, as a bubble of laughter rises up in her chest. ‘Yes, of course. Of course I will.’

Fitz’s face lights up like the night sky, and he surges forward to kiss her again. As his arms wrap around her, Jemma lets herself be lost in a haze of happiness and love, with every part of her feeling like it is radiating joy. Her lips quirk upward and soon Fitz’s are doing the same, until their kiss has become a mere meeting of smiles.

‘But,’ Jemma mumbles, rubbing her nose affectionately against his, ‘don’t think this means you don’t have to hire some contractors. I want them here by Monday.’

Fitz’s breath is warm on her skin as he gives a low chuckle. He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses the place where soon his ring will sit.

‘Whatever you want,’ he promises. ‘Whatever you want.’

 

 

**_One week later_ **

 

Unfortunately, the size of their village isn’t enough to protect it from the wedding season. When Fitz calls up the vicar of the church, the only legal registrar for forty miles, he informs them that he can either marry them this weekend or on a Tuesday in November.

‘I’m happy to wait,’ Fitz says, pulling the phone away from his ear, ‘if that’s what you want.’

Jemma twists her lip and finds her eyes drawn to the ring dangling freely around his neck. A sudden longing overcomes her, to have it slotted back on her third finger where it belongs. She smiles.

‘It’s not.’

There isn’t much to plan, which is lucky since they have such little time to do it in. It’s such short notice that there is no time to send out invitations, although neither of them find that they mind this too much. They can celebrate with their loved ones later, but for this the only people they need present are each other.

This time, Fitz has no trouble finding a kilt. He visits a small shop in the village specialising in the garments and the owner even manages to find him one with his mother’s family tartan on. He acts as though this isn’t that big of a deal, but Jemma can read in his face how proud he is and later that night she catches him sending a photo of himself in it to Andrea.

For her part, Jemma is pleasantly surprised to find a white dress that fits her as she seems to be expanding daily. It is made of a delicate cotton fabric with a high empire waistline and skims her knees, before fastening at the back with mother-of-pearl buttons the size of her pinkie fingernail.

On Saturday morning, she dresses in it in front of the mirror in their bedroom and smiles to herself at the irony of wearing white to her wedding when she is quite obviously pregnant. Using a couple of slides, Jemma clips her fringe back; they’d been down to the cottage the day before and she’d cut a few rosebuds off the trellis, which she now weaves into her hair beside the clips. Pleased with this effect, she reaches behind her to button up the dress.

They are fiddly, and it is a relief when Fitz appears behind her, smiling shyly in the mirror.

‘Can I help?’

‘Yes,’ Jemma sighs, letting her arms drop to her sides. ‘Please.’

With a grin, Fitz steps forward. Perhaps because he can see them, his fingers make quick work of the buttons and when he has finished his palms skim her hips lovingly. Turning around, Jemma takes in the kilt and black suit jacket he is wearing and as she notes the matching pink rose tucked into his buttonhole, she feels a flutter of excitement.

Today, she is going to marry her best friend.

The nervous smile Fitz gives her as he takes her hand tells her that he is feeling the exact same way. He exhales, as though he can’t quite believe this day has come.

‘Time to go.’

Downstairs, Jemma pulls Fitz into the florists to pick up the posy she had ordered earlier in the week. Mrs Stewart, the sweet, silver-haired florist, does her hardest to appear nonchalant as she bustles about, sprucing up leaves, but it is clear that she knows what this particular bouquet is for. After all, Jemma thinks ruefully, between her white dress and Fitz’s kilt, they are hardly inconspicuous.

When she puts a ten pound note down on the table for her posy of roses and daisies, Mrs Stewart shakes her head kindly.

‘No charge, pet. Not today.’

The gesture is so unexpected and Jemma is so surprised, that before she knows what she is doing she is inviting Mrs Stewart along to the church with them. The old woman’s eyes light up, and she kisses them both exuberantly on the cheek, much to Fitz’s chagrin.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Jemma murmurs to him, as they wait outside for Mrs Stewart to lock up. ‘And besides, the vicar _said_ we would need a witness…’

Fitz shakes his head, rubbing at the lipstick mark on his cheek. ‘I didn’t say anything.’

It is he, however, who disappears into the church grounds when they arrive and makes straight for the aging gardener, bent over a border with a spade. Jemma watches as he touches the old man on the shoulder and starts to speak to him. He waves one hand in her direction, and the gardener’s face breaks into a delighted smile, thumping Fitz on the arm and shaking his hand.

They walk back across the grass together, and the gardener nods politely to Jemma before doffing his cap and ducking into the foyer. She raises her eyebrows to Fitz, who rubs at the back of his neck before glancing up at her.

‘The vicar said we would need _two_ witnesses.’

Jemma doesn’t even bother to hide her grin as an immense rush of affection for him fills her veins.

‘I didn’t say anything,’ she says softly, before taking his hand once more and leading him into the church.

The village had played host to a flower festival the week before and they are lucky enough that the church is still full of beautiful arrangements, in all colours and sizes. As she and Fitz walk in, Jemma sees orchids and irises and roses and peonies, and when she breathes in she is met with their heady perfume. They make the plain stone church feel brighter somehow, as the light from the high stained-glass windows reflects off their petals.

It is a beautiful place, Jemma thinks as a lump appears in her throat, to get married.

They walk down the aisle together, which feels right somehow. For two people who have spent so much of their lives by each other’s side, it feels like the most appropriate way to start the next part of their journey. They give themselves to each other, just like they always have.

The vicar begins the ceremony, and Jemma is so caught up in his words and the weight of Fitz’s gaze on her that she is a little taken aback when the vicar turns to her expectantly.

‘I understand that you have your own vows?’ he prompts.

They both nod, and Fitz, who had volunteered to go first, clears his throat.

‘I’ve been thinking about what to say,’ he begins, and tears immediately cloud Jemma’s eyes, ‘and I think the best place to start is with you. Because ever since I first met you, Jemma, that’s where everywhere I go and everything I do has lead me back to. We have crossed galaxies, we have travelled through time. We have survived the bottom of the Atlantic just so that we could be together. Now, a love like that…’ Here, he pauses to suck in a breath and lifts his eyes to hers. ‘A love like that is stronger than any curse.’

Jemma gives a laugh which turns into a sob, and squeezes his hands tight.

‘I love you,’ Fitz says, ‘and I am so grateful to be here today to tell you that.’

Then, it is Jemma’s turn. Looking into Fitz’s face, the words come to her easily.

‘I don’t think there is anything I can say to you, Fitz,’ she says, ‘that I haven’t already said. That you haven’t already heard. That you don’t already _know_. We have seen so many remarkable things together over the years and yet the most wonderful sight I can think of is you, by my side, through it all. I’m so happy that you’re here with me for our next adventure. We’re building a family together,’ she whispers with a smile, ‘and I love you more every day.’

Fitz returns her smile, his eyes shining, and lowers one hand to rest it against her bump.

As they exchange rings that symbolise a love that transcends space and time, Jemma feels as though everything in the universe is perfectly back where it belongs.

 

The next morning, Jemma wakes late with the baby pushing on her bladder. She groans, and swings her legs out of bed to head to the bathroom.

After relieving herself, she turns on the tap to wash her hands and as the water catches on her ring, she smiles. Turning her hand this way and that, Jemma admires the slim band of metal and its luminous stone. The sight of it sitting on her third finger, just above her knuckle, fills her with an overwhelming sensation of wholeness, as well as a deep thrill in her stomach.

She and Fitz are _married._ Nobody can ever take that away from them again.

When she returns to their bedroom, Jemma is surprised to find it empty. Fitz’s side of the bed is a tangle of sheets and when she pulls them back she finds that they are cold, as if he has been gone a while.

Jemma frowns, but her confusion dissipates as the smell of frying bacon starts to waft down the hallway and her stomach rumbles impatiently. With a grin, she leaves the bedroom and pads through the apartment to the kitchen.

Sure enough, Fitz is sitting at the kitchen table, his head bent over his phone. In front of him, there is a dish of crisp, pink bacon and a stack of steaming pancakes, with a jug of what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice next to two tumblers. The table is neatly set with floral napkins tucked under the plates and the rose from Fitz’s buttonhole set in a vase in the middle. Happy tears fill Jemma’s eyes at the care he has clearly taken to make their first breakfast something special.

She steps forward, and gives a gentle cough to alert him to her presence.

Fitz starts, but his expression quickly melts into an easy smile as he sees her.

‘Hey! You’re awake,’ he greets, locking his phone and placing it screen down on the table. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Very well,’ Jemma says, then touches her belly ruefully. ‘Or at least, I did until this one decided to make their presence known.’

Fitz chuckles, before gesturing to the table in front of him.

‘I made breakfast,’ he says, rather unnecessarily. ‘If you’re hungry?’

‘I’m starving,’ Jemma admits and makes her way over to the table. There is a bowl of fresh strawberries next to the bacon and she picks one out and pops it in her mouth. It is sweet, and juicy, and fizzes on her tongue like the taste of summer.

She looks coyly up at Fitz through her eyelashes.

‘Marriage certainly works up quite the appetite.’

Fitz’s face grows red, but he returns her grin. When he holds out his hand to her, Jemma takes it and lets him pull her down to sit on his lap. He kisses her throat as she wraps her arms around his neck.

‘Good morning, wife.’

Jemma smiles at the warmth in his tone, and touches her nose against his.

‘Good morning, husband,’ she replies, enjoying the way the word sounded on her lips. She had missed saying it almost as much as she had missed the feel of her ring on her finger. ‘Am I to expect treatment like this every day?’

‘The breakfast? Definitely not. But me calling you my wife?’ Fitz rubs their noses together tenderly. ‘Absolutely.’

Jemma gives a soft laugh and gives him a chaste kiss on the lips.

‘What were you looking at when I came in?’ she asks. ‘You seemed rather absorbed by it.’

For a fleeting moment, Fitz looks a little embarrassed, as though she had caught him red-handed stealing from the biscuit tin.

‘Oh, uh, just something Mack sent me this morning.’

‘What was it?’

Fitz looks from her to his phone and seems to come to a decision. Taking one hand away from her waist, he reaches for his phone and opens his picture library, scrolling for a moment until he comes to a video. Jemma realises what it is going to be at the exact moment he presses play.

All of a sudden, she is watching herself, standing with May and Daisy in a forest clearing filled with dappled light, dressed in intricate white lace with an elaborate bouquet in her hands. Her breath catches in her throat as the camera angle changes and there is Fitz, walking towards her with Coulson and Deke just behind him, a look of pure wonderment on his face.

Slowly, Jemma brings her hand up to hold the phone with Fitz, her fingers covering his as they watch together.

In the days after Chicago and during long nights spent alone in space, Jemma had watched this video obsessively. She had lain in bed with her phone tucked protectively into her chest, memorising every frame, every expression, every word.

It wasn’t that she was afraid she would forget; far from it, she was certain that the memory of that day could carry her through to the ends of the earth. When Jemma had watched her wedding video, it had been out of a need for reassurance: reassurance that it had happened, that it had been real. She had watched it whenever she’d needed to believe that she could be that happy again.

Once they’d found Fitz and woken him up from his deep sleep, she’d deleted her copy of the video from her phone after double checking that Mack still had his. It had been more than six months since the last time she’d watched it, but the memory is still just as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Which, Jemma admits, in a way it had.

When the video ends, Fitz locks his phone and holds it in his hand as he clasps her loosely about her waist.

‘How come you never showed me this before?’ he asks.

Jemma turns her head towards him and finds no hurt or irritation in his eyes. Instead, there is only the same awe and amazement she’d just watched on screen.

With a smile, she touches her forehead to his.

‘I didn’t want you stealing my vows,’ she mumbles.

Fitz snorts with laughter, and he hugs her tighter to him. Jemma is fully aware of how heavy she must be on his knees but Fitz doesn’t seem to care. He pulls her close and kisses her temple.

For a moment or two, they sit like that together, each absorbed in their own thoughts, until Fitz lifts his head up to her.

‘Was it weird?’ he asks. ‘Yesterday, I mean. Was it weird to marry me again so soon after the first time?’

It is an earnest question, and Jemma considers it carefully before answering him.

‘Do you know,’ she says quietly, ‘I don’t think I actually thought about our first time at all yesterday. I didn’t need to.’

When Fitz frowns, she feels the need to explain herself further. Resting her hand over his, so that their rings touch together, Jemma takes a deep breath.

‘That day in the forest was very special to me, yes, and the memory of it is something I’ll always treasure. But that’s because I got to marry _you_. It was about you and me, and how much we love each other. It was about how we’ll always manage to overcome anything that comes our way to be together, and that’s exactly what yesterday was about too. I don’t need to compare our two weddings, because at their hearts they were about the very same thing.’

She smiles, and brushes a stray curl off of Fitz’s forehead.

‘The way I see it,’ Jemma says, ‘I’m the luckiest woman on the planet, because I got to marry you twice. And if I needed to marry you again, I would. I’d marry you every single day for the rest of my life.’

Fitz’s smile is the mirror image of hers as he places his phone on the table and brings his hands up to cup her face. His thumbs brush affectionately over her cheekbones as his eyes glow with love.

‘Me too,’ he whispers, before bringing her down to kiss him.

Jemma opens herself up to the kiss, allowing Fitz’s lips to fall over hers, carefully tracing the shape of her mouth. The kiss is soft and slow, and tastes ever so slightly of strawberries. It feels lazy, like Sunday mornings and the heartbeats of two people wholly in love with each other.

Jemma thinks she could quite happily keep on kissing Fitz forever, but her stomach has other ideas. It rumbles loudly, and they break apart with a snort of laughter.

‘This is unprecedented,’ Fitz remarks happily. ‘Usually it’s _my_ stomach that interrupts us.’

Jemma rolls her eyes with a grin, and slides off his lap and onto a chair of her own.

They eat their breakfast in companionable silence, folding the bacon into slices of soft granary bread to make butties and drizzling the pancakes with syrup. It is all delicious, and Jemma makes a note in the back of her mind to institute such breakfasts as a regular feature of their new family routine.

‘Oh! I forgot to mention,’ Fitz says as he pours them out another cup of juice. ‘We don’t need to go down to the cottage today.’

‘Really?’ Jemma looks up from her plate in surprise. ‘Why not?’

True to his word, Fitz had booked a team of builders to take over construction at the cottage. They were doing all the heavy lifting now, but they were both still highly involved in the project. For the past week, when they hadn’t been organising the wedding they’d been on site, directing, planning, and bringing the team up to date on their vision for the cottage.

‘The new bathroom suite is arriving today,’ Fitz says. ‘The guys know where it’s going and I trust them to do it right. We can go down and check on it tomorrow, but I wanted us to have today just to be together. To enjoy being husband and wife.’

Jemma’s eyes flutter shut as the pleasure at hearing those two words washes over her. When she opens them again, she beams at him.

‘That sounds perfect.’

‘Good.’

Fitz picks up their plates and carries them to the sink. When he returns, he stands behind Jemma’s chair and brushes her hair off her shoulders. He kisses the crown of her head, and Jemma can feel him smiling.

‘Can you think of anything you’d like to do?’

The innuendo in his voice makes the hairs on her arm stand on end.

‘Mmm.’ Suppressing a shiver, Jemma pretends to think. ‘As a matter of fact, I have a list.’

‘A whole list?’ Fitz’s lips move to her temple, her cheek, the cusp of her chin. ‘Lucky me.’

‘Oh, yes, lucky you.’ Jemma twists her head to catch the kiss that had been aiming at her nose. ‘We need to shop for towels,’ she says between kisses, ‘and bedding for the baby. We need to buy some plants for the garden, and crockery for the kitchen. And,’ she finishes, with one last lingering kiss, ‘we also need to search for an appropriate nursery. Places book up very quickly, you know.’

Fitz exhales slowly. ‘I love it when you talk dirty to me.’

A broad grin spreads over Jemma’s lips as his hands slip down her sides, playing with the hem of her t-shirt.

‘Do you want to take my list into the bedroom, Mr Fitzsimmons?’ she teases.

With a knowing look, Fitz takes both of her hands in his and heaves her to her feet. He kisses her again, his lips fitting to hers like a missing piece.

‘Absolutely, Mrs Fitzsimmons.’

As the bedroom door clicks shut behind them, Jemma doesn’t think she could have imagined a better honeymoon if she’d tried.

 

**_August 2019_ **

 

When Jemma is eight months pregnant, the baby decides to give her a scare.

She starts to bleed unexpectedly one day, sharp pains shooting through her abdomen and making her gasp. She and Fitz are at the cottage alone, and Fitz has to run half-way back to the village before he gets enough signal to call for an ambulance.

Later, at the hospital, the doctor does his best to reassure them that there is nothing they need to worry about.

‘You did the right thing to come in, of course,’ he says, ‘but there aren’t any obvious problems. Bleeding like this can be quite normal in the later stages of pregnancy. Just try to get plenty of rest over the next few weeks, and don’t exert yourself too much.’

His words make the tight knots in Jemma’s stomach loosen, and she feels Fitz’s tight grip on her hand slacken with relief.

Despite this assurance, the doctor decides to keep her in overnight, just in case. Unwilling to leave her, and even less willing to make the thirty-mile trip back to the village only to return for her the next day, Fitz chooses to stay too. Jemma’s nurse gives him a blow-up airbed to sleep on, and leaves an extra blanket by the door with a wink.

Before they both settle down to sleep, Fitz takes something out of Jemma’s handbag. Crossing the room, he sits down on the bed next to her and tucks a folded-up piece of paper into her hands.

‘You don’t have to give me an answer straight away,’ he says, as Jemma unfolds it. ‘I just think it’s something we should consider. Think of the advantages: a fully stocked medical wing and a hospital only a few miles away. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to be with the people who love us, would it?’

Jemma shakes her head wordlessly as she runs her fingers over the Lighthouse postcard. She turns it over and sees his familiar writing on the back, promising her that everything will be alright.

Gently, Fitz puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, pressing his lips to the side of her head.

‘I know,’ he mumbles, ‘that Scotland is beautiful. And I know that in the loop our daughter was born in the Lighthouse, and that you have every reason to not want this baby to be too…’

He trails off, as Jemma lifts her head from his shoulder.

‘Do you remember,’ she says, ‘that day we held hands in the snow?’

It hadn’t been snow, of course, but she knows that the memory is one of Fitz’s favourites. His entire face softens, and he starts to smile.

‘Yeah.’

Tucking her hand into his, Jemma smiles back.

‘Inevitability isn’t always a bad thing.’

 

 


	4. hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Fitz.’
> 
> ‘Mmf.’
> 
> ‘Fitz, wake up.’
> 
> Her husband groans, cocooned in their duvet with his hair sticking out at odd angles. ‘Jemma, it’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep. Whatever it is can wait till morning.’
> 
> ‘Actually, I don’t think it can.’ With a trembling hand, Jemma reaches out to touch his shoulder. ‘Fitz, my waters have broken.’
> 
> From that moment on, Fitz is very much awake.

 

 

**_August 2019, Scotland and then the Lighthouse_ **

 

The next morning, once she and Fitz return from the hospital to their flat above the florists, Jemma calls the Lighthouse. It is May who picks up, and the last of her reservations about returning vanish as soon she hears her voice.

Twenty-four hours later, she and Fitz are waiting at the same airfield Davis had dropped them off at four months ago. When the quinnjet lands, they are pleasantly surprised to see May walking off the cargo ramp, instantly recognisable in her leather jacket and quiet confidence. It is all Jemma can do to stop herself from falling into the older agent’s arms and hugging her tight.

‘It’s good to see you, Agent May,’ she says.

For a moment, May’s feature’s ease into a smile and she reaches up to touch Jemma’s cheek affectionately.

‘You too, Jemma.’

The flight back to the Lighthouse is rather tense, made even more so by the fact that Fitz seems even more on edge than Jemma is. Every time she gets up to pace, walking the length of the jet and arching her back to relieve the tension there, he jumps to his feet too, so much so that May eventually tells him to buckle up.

‘Flying a plane is hard enough as it is,’ she says with her usual dry humour, ‘without you playing jack-in-the-box every thirty seconds.’

Glancing gratefully into the cockpit, Jemma catches her eye and May, who has piloted a spaceship through a gravity storm, gives her a slow wink.

Eventually though, the dark ocean beneath them starts to grow lighter and soon the quinnjet begins to descend, the walls of water parting for them as they pull into the base. When the cargo ramp lowers, Jemma feels her heart leap to see Daisy and Elena waiting for them.

‘Oh my God,’ Daisy gasps, rushing forward to wrap her arms around her in a hug. ‘You’ve gotten so _big_! And beautiful,’ she adds hastily, pulling back to gesture to Jemma’s – very big – bump. ‘Big and beautiful.’

‘Nice save,’ Jemma tells her, and Daisy grins before turning to greet Fitz. She hesitates only for a moment before reaching up to hug him too. Fitz blinks at the unexpectedness of this, but the way he clutches at her gently in return tells Jemma just how much he appreciates it.

‘We missed you,’ Elena says, appearing by Jemma’s side and tucking her arm through hers.

‘We missed you too,’ Jemma replies happily, squeezing her hand. ‘Where’s Mack?’

‘He’s busy just now.’ Elena raises one eyebrow pointedly. ‘Important director business, you know.’

‘But,’ Daisy puts in, one elbow still resting on Fitz’s shoulder, ‘he should be done before dinner and we’ll all have plenty of time to catch up then.’

After saying goodbye to May, who heads off to join Mack, they pick up Fitz and Jemma’s luggage and carry it into the base.

In the few short months they’d been away, Jemma notices that a number of changes have taken place. The Lighthouse feels brighter and more open. The faces of the agents she passes are less fraught, comfortable even. There is even a carton of fresh apple juice in one of their hands. In short, Jemma thinks, it feels nothing like an apocalypse bunker anymore – it feels like a SHIELD headquarters to be proud of.

‘Are we in our old bunk?’ Fitz asks, struggling with his backpack and the baby’s car seat.

‘Yes,’ Daisy says, swooping in to take the car seat from him. She swings it from her elbow like a shopping basket. ‘But we’ve got a couple of gifts for you first, in the rec room.’

‘Rec room?’ Jemma exchanges a look with Fitz. ‘ _That’s_ new.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Daisy calls over her shoulder as she shows them into a wide room filled with a long table and a collection of soft sofas and chairs, ‘there were only so many nights we could bear playing Tetris in the control room.’

‘And Mack’s _really_ good at Tetris,’ Elena murmurs to Jemma, who snorts with laughter.

Daisy leads them over to the table, where there is a package neatly wrapped in brown paper and addressed to her and Fitz lying waiting.

‘Open it,’ she says softly.

Glancing up at Fitz, who raises his eyebrows to tell her to go ahead, Jemma rips at the paper.

‘Oh…’ With a peal of laughter, she pulls out a new-born sized babygrow patterned with the SHIELD logo. She passes it to Fitz to look at and he holds it up against his chest. ‘But who is it from?’

‘Coulson?’ Fitz guesses, and Elena grins, nodding.

‘Have you seen him?’ Jemma asks in a whisper, turning to Daisy.

Her friend shakes her head and sucks in a deep breath.

‘Not yet,’ she admits, then shrugs her shoulders. ‘But I have hope.’

Knowing exactly how that feels, Jemma gives her an encouraging smile as she folds the wrapping paper. ‘Then so do I.’

‘Hey, you said there were a couple of presents,’ Fitz points out. He has tucked the babygrow into his jacket and is stroking the fabric, so that it looks as if he has the baby cradled to his chest already. ‘What’s our other one?’

Daisy and Elena share a look, before stepping to one side to lift a bottle box with a white label attached to it onto the table.

‘I think it’s fair to say that the gift itself is less for you than it is for the giver,’ Daisy says cryptically, ‘but in a way, the giver himself is the gift.’

Frowning, Jemma watches as Fitz steps forward to pick out a bottle from the cardboard container. He turns the label towards her, and her whole heart jumps as she realises what it is. Pulling the label off the box, Jemma eagerly reads the note written on it: _Save one for me. Deke x_

She lets out a burst of delighted laughter. With tears welling up in her eyes, she looks up at Daisy and Elena, both of whom are wearing wide grins on their faces. Hugging the note to her chest just above her protruding belly, Jemma knows she ought to have a million questions about where her grandson has been and how it is that he’s still here at all. But for the moment, she finds she does not care.

The only thing that matters is that soon he will be coming home.

The moment is broken by Fitz, who has been carefully lifting all the bottles out of the box and lining them up on the table. Holding a bottle of Zima in each hand, he looks up at them all in dismay.

‘Are you telling me that _my own grandson_ doesn’t drink ale?’

 

**_Three weeks later_ **

 

‘Fitz.’

‘Mmf.’

‘Fitz, wake up.’

Her husband groans, cocooned in their duvet with his hair sticking out at odd angles. ‘Jemma, it’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep. Whatever it is can wait till morning.’

‘Actually, I don’t think it can.’ With a trembling hand, Jemma reaches out to touch his shoulder. ‘Fitz, my waters have broken.’

From that moment on, Fitz is very much awake.

He is out of bed in a flash, pulling on a t-shirt and mumbling assurances to her before dashing out of the room. When he returns, it is with May, who moves instantly to the bed to sit beside her.

‘There’s still time to get to the hospital,’ she says, her voice steady and comforting. ‘I’ll drive you both right now, if that’s what you want.’

Exhaling deeply, Jemma shakes her head.

‘No,’ she decides. ‘This is where we’re meant to be.’

Through the dark, she sees May smile at her. ‘Alright, then. Let’s go have a baby.’

Between the two of them, May and Fitz manage to get her on her feet and they begin the long walk down to the med bay, their progress frequently disrupted by Jemma’s contractions. When at last they make it to a room, Jemma notices that Fitz had been inaccurate in his claim that it was the middle of the night; in fact, it is fast approaching six in the morning.

The next few hours pass in a blur of pain and pacing, and before she knows it, it is eleven o’clock and Daisy is knocking at the door, both to see how she is and to deliver a plate of egg sandwiches for Fitz.

He glances back at her anxiously.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’

Jemma is about to shake her head when the smell of the egg turns her stomach, and she doubles over the bed with a groan. Firmly, May takes hold of Fitz’s arm and steers him outside to eat his sandwich behind the door.

‘She minds.’

Fitz isn’t gone for long, however. When her next contraction hits and she cries out in pain, he is back at her side as if pulled there by some magnetic force, smoothing back her hair and slipping his hand into hers.

‘It’s okay,’ he murmurs, ‘it’s okay. I’m right here.’

Jemma breathes out, trying to remember the diagrams she’d seen in the birthing books and clutches at his fingers.

From somewhere next to her, she hears May say, ‘I think it’s time.’

They help her onto the bed and ease her back against the pillows. From every book and blog entry she has read, Jemma knows that now is the time for her to push, but already she can feel the exhaustion setting in from hours of walking and an interrupted night’s sleep.

Just a little bit longer, she tells herself as tears well up in her eyes, and it will all be over. Just a little bit longer and she will be able to hold her and Fitz’s baby in her arms, and everything, _everything_ will have been worth it.

The world fades away. The Lighthouse could have been sieged by aliens again and Jemma would have been none the wiser. She is only aware of her own breathing, the feel of Fitz’s touch, and the absolute blinding _pain_ that burns so intensely she’s sure she’s turned feverish.

It feels like she has been pushing for hours when May says, ‘you have to go again, Jemma. Do it now.’

With a stifled sob, Jemma shakes her head. Every part of her aches and she isn’t sure she can even lift her head anymore, let alone give birth.

‘I can’t,’ she whispers. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘Of course you can.’ Beside her, Fitz brushes his thumb over her forehead. ‘Jemma, you cured an unknown alien disease. You swam ninety-feet up from the ocean floor with one breath. You survived six months on another planet, and you made it home to tell the tale.’ The pride in his voice is fierce as he lifts their joined hands up to his lips and kisses her knuckles. ‘I don’t think there is _anything_ you can’t do.’

Jemma gives a watery laugh. ‘But I didn’t do any of those things on my own,’ she points out, ‘I had you.’

‘And you have me _now_ ,’ Fitz tells her. ‘You’re not alone, Jemma. I promised, didn’t I?’

Fresh tears fill Jemma’s eyes as she remembers his proposal in the kitchen. She nods.

‘You did.’

‘Okay,’ Fitz breathes. He shifts his position, so instead of kneeling in front of her he is standing behind. He takes her hand in his and presses his lips to the top of her hair. ‘Then let’s do this. Together.’

Feeling his arm rest supportively on her back, Jemma grits her teeth, grips the sides of the bed and, with the last of her strength, she pushes.

She gasps, and then, in a rush of breath and tears, it is all over. There is a moment of pure silence and then Jemma hears a loud cry fill the tiny room, a sound that goes straight to her heart.

Through his own sobs, Fitz laughs and cups her face in both his hands.

‘You did it,’ he whispers. Blinking away her tears, Jemma gazes into his eyes and sees her own joy reflected back at her. Fitz ducks his head and, despite the fact that she must taste like salt and sweat and snot, he kisses her full on the mouth. ‘You did it.’

They pull away from each other as May approaches the bed and Jemma feels her breath catch at the sight of the bundle of blankets in her arms.

‘It’s a boy,’ she says softly.

Eagerly, Jemma reaches out and May passes her the baby. With fumbling fingers, Jemma eases down the corners of the blankets to get her first look at the child she and Fitz have made.

His face is raspberry red and his lips are puckered, ready to cry with indignance once more. He has wisps of hair on the crown of his head that are dark now but Jemma knows will be lighter once they are dry. He has two eyes, one nose and ten fingers. He is _perfect_.

Already, her exhaustion from the past ten hours is beginning to ebb away as she drinks in the sight of him, committing every inch of him to memory. From the way Fitz leans even closer to her, his head resting on her shoulder and his fingertip coming up to brush their baby’s cheek, Jemma knows he is doing the exact same thing.

‘We have a son,’ he says, and his voice quivers with emotion.

‘We do,’ Jemma breathes, feeling the faint pulse of the baby’s heartbeat against her bare skin. She marvels at how easily two had become three. ‘Oh, we do.’

 

Later that night, Jemma is resting against Fitz’s chest, both of them tucked into the narrow single bed in the med bay. In her arms, their son sleeps peacefully.

He is only a few hours old, but already Euan is taking after his father. He feeds eagerly and sleeps deeply, and is grizzly when he’s been away from her arms too long. Above all though, when he opens his unseeing eyes into hers they are of such a familiar blue that Jemma thinks she could fall into them and drown. She loves him, with all her heart.

They’d had a steady stream of visitors throughout the evening, after May had left to make the announcement to the team. Daisy had arrived first, with Mack and Elena hot on her heels. They had all wanted to hold Euan, cooing quietly over his downy head and tucking their pinky fingers into his tiny fists. Jemma had watched Daisy give a soft gasp as his new-born reflexes kicked in and he held onto her with a vicelike grip.

‘He’s amazing,’ she’d whispered, and Jemma had wholeheartedly agreed.

In the morning, they will video-call their parents to announce the news. Fitz already had one of his mum’s knitted cardigans on standby, ready to dress Euan in to show her. They will then quickly change him into a little sleepsuit with Peter Rabbit embroidered on the front to call Jemma’s parents and he will be adored all over again.

Now that the raw exhaustion has faded, Jemma feels remarkably mellow. She supposes that this is down to the amount of love coursing through her veins, making her want to stay awake as long as she can and spend every possible second staring at Euan. All the same, the warmth of Fitz’s arms and the dim lighting in the room is making her sleepy, and she can feel her eyelids beginning to droop. Behind her, Fitz is breathing so evenly and has been quiet for so long that Jemma is starting to think he has fallen asleep when he speaks.

‘Was he a surprise?’

Jemma frowns, and twists slightly in his arms to look up at him.

‘How do you mean?’

Fitz shrugs. ‘You met our daughter’s son,’ he says lightly. ‘I know we never talked about it but I did sometimes wonder whether you thought we would be having a girl.’

With a shake of her head, Jemma leans back against his chest. The mention of Deke doesn’t pain her as much as it did before, not now that she knows he is still in the world and plans on seeing them soon. Instead, all it does is remind her just how much she misses him.

‘It’s like I told you before,’ she says to Fitz, ‘all of the fixed points that came with the time loop are gone, now that it’s broken. There’s no certainty to our lives anymore. Every sunrise comes with a new possibility.’

In her arms their son yawns, his whole face creasing with the effort, and Jemma smiles. She touches her hand to his head, where his hair feels like peach fuzz.

‘And Euan was one of those.’

‘He was the best possibility,’ Fitz murmurs, covering her fingers with his own. Jemma nods her agreement and tucks her head into the crook of his neck.

She hadn’t imagined she could ever feel any closer to him after everything they had been through together, but somehow, with the birth of their child, she does. There is a synchronicity in their heartbeats and a trust as steadfast as the beacon in the Lighthouse, and it is this that gives Jemma the courage to raise her voice again.

‘I will admit,’ she says quietly, ‘to having a curiosity about her. About our daughter. I wondered a lot about what she might have been like, about which of us she’d most resemble, and so on.’

She feels Fitz nod against her. ‘Didn’t you ask Deke when he was here? Surely he’d have told you.’

‘He offered to,’ Jemma remembers. ‘But at the time, I thought it was probably best not to know too much. I still do, really. It was just…exciting, I suppose, after years of being so unsure where we were going, to think that there was a clear path ahead that we would follow no matter what.’

‘I guess you could say that we still took it,’ Fitz says after a moment’s thought. ‘In an odd, round-a-bout way.’

Jemma laughs softly, so as not to wake Euan. She shifts him in her arms, holding him even closer to her, and drops a kiss to his forehead.

‘I guess we did.’

‘And if our daughter was anything like us,’ Fitz says thoughtfully, ‘then I’d like to think she’d be really proud of us for breaking the loop. I’d like to think she’d be proud that we took the hope she’d held on to for so long and used it to build a better world, and a better life for her little brother.’

Jemma nods, feeling a surge of love rise up within her for all her family: past, present, and future.

‘You’re absolutely right,’ she agrees, a small smile spreading across her lips. ‘And besides, who’s to say that we’ll never meet her? Maybe our next one will be a girl.’

There is a beat, before Fitz repeats: ‘our _next_ one?’

Grinning, Jemma turns to him.

‘Oh, come on,’ she teases, ‘you mean to tell me you haven’t thought about it?’

Fitz has the decency to look a little sheepish.

‘Maybe I have,’ he says, red blotches appearing on his cheeks, ‘but I thought I’d be enough of a gentleman to wait until you’d got your breath back before bringing it up.’

Jemma chuckles, and presses a light kiss to his lips. Fitz grins against her as he kisses her back.

Carefully, he slips off the bed and holds out his arms for Euan. Jemma passes him over reluctantly, running her fingers over his tiny head one last time. As much as she is craving to keep him close to her, she knows how important it is for her to get some rest before the morning. She can hold him again tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day for as long as she lives.

Fitz lowers their son in his cot, before hovering anxiously over him when Euan gives a little grunt of discomfort. He only relaxes when it is clear that he is sleeping soundly once more and turns back to the bed. Jemma holds up the covers for him and he slides in beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist and gently pulling her closer.

‘You were wrong before,’ Fitz says. ‘There is still one thing in our lives that we can count on with absolute certainty.’

‘Oh?’ Through the darkness, Jemma blinks up at him. ‘And what’s that, then?’

‘That I love you,’ he says simply. ‘And I always will.’

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, and when they wake in the small hours of the morning to Euan’s indignant cry, it sounds like the beginning of a whole new life.

****

**_November 2019, the Lighthouse and then Scotland_ **

 

They stay on at the Lighthouse for another six weeks.

Partly, this is for practical reasons. Although their contractors assure them that Dòchas Cottage is perfectly liveable now, Fitz and Jemma know that there are still adjustments going on and if they attempted to settle in with a new-born now they would only be complicating procedures and slowing them down. Since their rented rooms over the florist were barely big enough for the two of them, they decide that the best thing to do is to stay put, at least for the immediate future.

As the weeks pass, however, Jemma allows herself to admit that there is a second reason she is happy to stay at the Lighthouse. It is nice to be surrounded by their friends, by the people who genuinely care about them, as they introduce their son to the world around him one day at a time.

Surprisingly, the base takes pretty well to suddenly having a baby within its walls. Whenever Fitz or Jemma need to do something, there is always a pair of willing hands nearby, eager to take Euan from them for a cuddle. Mack in particular develops a tender affection for their son, and there are many times that Jemma heads off in search of him only to find him being rocked in his car-seat by SHIELD’s co-director, who is murmuring nonsense to him while he works.

Despite this, the arrangement is far from ideal and as the weeks wear on Jemma begins to notice small changes to the running of the base. After Euan has had a bad night, keeping both her and Fitz up and pacing, she sees multiple agents with dark circles under their eyes in the morning. When May and Elena head out on a mission, they return with a soft giraffe toy they’d found squeezed down the back of the SUV seats. Mack starts humming nursery rhymes under his breath during morning briefing.

The turning point comes one morning, when a bleary-eyed Daisy lifts Euan’s bottle of milk to her lips instead of her cup of juice. Although they manage to stop her, with a sudden shriek of ‘NO!’, before she drinks any, when Jemma catches her husband’s eye over the breakfast table she knows that Fitz is thinking the same thing.

It is time to go home.

The goodbyes when they come are far less hard than Jemma had feared they might be, probably because they aren’t really goodbyes at all. She hugs May tightly, and kisses Elena on the cheek before easing Euan out of her arms to carry him onto the quinnjet and fasten him into his seat. When she and Fitz say goodbye to Mack together, there is no finality to it because this is not the end. Rather, it is a new beginning.

SHIELD is a fledgling organisation once more, and needs every friend it can get. It had taken only minimal persuasion from its two directors to convince them both to stay on the books as the science division’s head consultants, only a call away if ever their help is needed. With SHIELD’s help, Fitz and Jemma will build a lab in the cottage barn and remain a part of the team, the team that has become their family.

Really, Jemma thinks to herself with a smile as she waves goodbye from the cargo ramp, it is the perfect compromise for everyone.

Daisy volunteers to fly them back to Perthshire, wanting to put her newly learnt piloting skills to the test. As the quinnjet rises into the sky, Euan grizzles, the unfamiliar sensation startling him. He begins to cry in protest, a sound that tugs painfully at Jemma’s heartstrings. As soon as it is safe to do so, she unclasps him from his car-seat to cradle him to her, hushing softly in his ear. Inwardly, she prays for a quick flight, not wanting to cause him to discomfort any longer than necessary.

 She needn’t have worried. Daisy had been taught to pilot by Melinda May, and after a couple of hours she is flying so smoothly that Euan has fallen back to sleep, soothed by the monotonous thrumming of the engines. He doesn’t even wake as they land in the village’s airfield, which Daisy takes as a personal affront.

‘I come all this way,’ she grumbles, ‘and I don’t even get a proper goodbye?’ She tweaks Euan’s nose gently, rocking him in her arms. ‘That’s hurtful, buddy.’

Jemma watches them with a smile, feeling a sudden pang of affection for her friend.

‘It’s hardly goodbye,’ she points out. ‘Didn’t Mack say he’d send us a bunch of lab equipment next month? I expect you’ll find a way to wangle yourself onto that mission.’

‘And besides,’ Fitz cuts in, before Daisy can open her mouth, ‘I saw you sneak Euan’s toy monkey into your bunk before we left. Having to return that would be a pretty good excuse for coming to visit us sometime soon.’

When he raises one eyebrow at her, Daisy rolls her eyes dramatically.

‘Okay, fine. You’ve got me. I won’t say goodbye.’ Ducking her head, she gives Euan one last kiss. ‘I’ll just wait until my next _hello_.’

She passes him back to Fitz, who lifts him carefully to rest against his shoulder. Stepping forward, Jemma wraps her arms around her and squeezes tight.

‘See you soon, Daisy.’

Together, she and Fitz watch her leave. They wait until the quinnjet is no more than a dark speck on the horizon, and then they turn towards the road.

The day before, Fitz had rung up a local car dealership to buy a suitable car for them. The owner had agreed to drop it off at the airfield in time and Jemma is relieved to find it waiting for them. Thankfully, it is just big enough for them to load all their luggage and Euan’s paraphernalia into and once they are all strapped in Fitz turns the key and starts the car, ready to drive them home.

Euan stays asleep for the entire ride to Dòchas Cottage, waking only as they pull up the drive. He gives a stifled cry and, well tuned now to the nuances of his baby sounds, Fitz and Jemma exchange a look.

‘I’ll unpack,’ Fitz volunteers. ‘You go and get him sorted.’

As he hauls their suitcases out of the boot and into the house, Jemma takes her baby change bag and carries Euan up to the nursery. There, she changes him out of his soiled nappy and into a fresh one, blowing a raspberry onto his exposed tummy before buttoning him into a new sleepsuit.

‘There we are, darling,’ she whispers to him, ‘good as new.’

Euan blinks up at her, and the corners of his mouth twitch. Jemma holds her breath. For the last week, she and Fitz have been eagerly waiting for his first genuine smile, knowing that it could make its appearance at the six-week mark. Euan has been learning about them just as much as they have been learning about him, and Jemma can’t wait for that magic moment where he smiles at them, recognising them as his parents for the first time.

When Euan sneezes instead though, his tiny nose wrinkling up, she isn’t disappointed. When the time comes, he will smile for them. For the first time in years, they aren’t in any rush. They have time.

Lifting her son into her arms, Jemma carries him across the room to his cot, the one that Fitz had loving built over the summer. There, she lowers him onto the blankets and pulls a favourite soft toy out of her bag to tuck beside him.

‘Is he asleep?’

Turning around, Jemma sees Fitz hovering in the doorway, a steaming mug in each hand. She shakes her head.

‘No, he’s awake. I think he’s taking it all in. There’s a lot of new sights and smells, it’s probably quite exciting for him.’

When Fitz offers her a mug, she steps forward to take it and watches him sinks into the armchair in the corner with a sigh. Jemma curls her fingers around her mug. After the long flight, the warmth of the tea is welcome.

‘What’s the house like?’ she asks. ‘Does everything look alright?’

‘Everything looks _fine_ ,’ Fitz assures her. He pats the arm of the chair and she perches on it, her hip just resting against his upper arm. ‘Really good, in fact. It was a good call of yours to hire those guys, actually, they’ve done a great job. I might ask them to come again when we do up the lab.’

Jemma squeezes his hand.

‘Sounds like a plan.’

They both jump as Euan gives a stuttered cry from his cot, suddenly baffled by the unfamiliarity rather than entertained. Fitz sets down his mug and reaches him first, lifting him out and holding him close.

‘Hey, hey,’ he croons, brushing his thumb against Euan’s cheek. ‘It’s alright, little man.’

He carries him back to the chair and Jemma leans over his shoulder to add her voice to his.

‘Don’t cry,’ she says softly. ‘We’re here.’

Euan had quietened from the moment he’d felt his father’s arms around him, and now he gives a small sigh, apparently much happier now he has both parents’ undivided attention.

Seeing the way Fitz beams at their son, cradling him so carefully to his chest, Jemma feels a wave of love for them both, and gratitude that they had ended up where they were. After everything she and Fitz had gone through over the past six years, after all the losses and tragedies and near-misses, it feels like nothing short of a miracle for them to be here, rocking their son to sleep in a home all of their own.

‘We’ve done alright, haven’t we?’ she murmurs. ‘You and me.’

Fitz looks up at her in surprise, then gives her an easy smile.

‘Course we have.’

As if to prove his point, Euan wriggles in his arms. They both glance down at him and, as if he knows exactly what the moment demands, he smiles. It is a beautiful smile, with parted lips, chubby cheeks and brilliant, bright blue eyes. Jemma feels her own mouth widen as she mirrors it, a delighted laugh on her lips.

Fitz is grinning too, as he turns to kiss her on the cheek.

‘See?’ he whispers. ‘We’ve done great.’

Warm reassurance seeps through her and Jemma kisses him back, revelling in the familiar press of his lips against hers.

‘It’s almost six,’ she notes, catching a glance of the clock on the wall above him. ‘Are you hungry? I could make us something to eat.’ She tilts her head to one side. ‘How do pancakes sound?’

The expression on Fitz’s face as he looks up at her is akin to adoration.

‘You’re the best wife in the world.’

Jemma chuckles and gets to her feet. ‘Let’s see if I can get the Aga working first,’ she warns. ‘You might want to change your answer.’

Fitz shakes his head. ‘Nah,’ he says softly, the love between them evident in his tone. ‘No chance of that.’

Moving out of the room, Jemma pauses in the doorway to glance back over her shoulder. She is just in time to watch Fitz touch his nose to Euan’s and whisper to him.

‘Welcome home, little man.’

With a smile on her lips and happiness in her heart, Jemma makes her way down the stairs, already looking forward to the moment that she would return to them and be back where she belonged.

 

****

**_2022, Dòchas Cottage_ **

 

Their bedroom is bright, lit up by the moon and the scattered stars filling the night sky. As Fitz kisses her, his lips warm and his hands hot, it feels to Jemma like those stars have spilled through the open window and found their way into her bones.

It feels like they are lighting her up from the inside out.

They are pressed up against the door, their arms wrapped around one another as they kiss. Jemma’s heart starts to thump as Fitz’s fingers slip underneath her shirt to caress her scars and her stretchmarks, parts of her she knows without a doubt that he loves. After all this time, her husband’s touch never fails to make her feel desired.

Together, they stumble across the room and fall onto the bed, stifling giggles as the bed frame creaks under their joined weight. Her arms looped around his neck, Jemma enjoys the feel of Fitz’s body moving against hers, so familiar and yet always so new. She kisses him, and he tastes like home.

Fitz’s forehead brushes against hers as he lifts his face to hers. In the moonlight, his eyes are shining.

‘Are you sure about this?’ he breathes.

It has been four years since she lost him and then found him again. Euan is two and a half, and Jemma is convinced that he is the most beautiful child in the world. His baby curls are turning darker and taking on a reddish tint that is a surprise to both his parents. He is inquisitive to the point of nosiness, and has a penchant for bugs and beasties that has even his squeamish father crouching in the mud at the bottom of the garden looking for beetles. That morning, as they stood together and watched him play, Fitz had turned to Jemma and said that he wanted to give him a sibling.

Reaching up, she touches his cheek with the back of her hand. Nodding, she smiles at him and repeats the words he had spoken to her long ago, words that had begun them on this journey and words that Jemma hopes will continue to carry them on, to wherever the universe took them next.

‘Yes,’ she whispers. ‘Always.’

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the name euan means 'born of the yew', and traditionally the yew tree symbolises resurrection and second chances. i stumbled across it and thought it was the perfect name for the fs baby in this fic and now i'm a little bit in love with it!!
> 
> thank you so much for taking the time to read this story, and for leaving lovely comments. they mean a lot to me, and i've loved reading every single one. i hope this was a satisfying conclusion and that you enjoyed the fic!


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